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A  Gentleman   from   Gascony 


A    Gentleman    from    Gascony 


A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HUGUENOTS 


By  BICKNELL  DUDLEY 


NEW      YORK      AND       LONDON 
STREET  &   SMITH,    PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1895, 
By  STREET  &  SMITH 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTBR  PAGE 

I.— THE  LAST  OF  His  RAO,      .       .       .       .       .  7 

II. — SHADOWS  BEFORE,          .                 .        .        .        .  16 

III. — GABRIELLE,      ...••••.30 

IV. — THE  WHITE  BADGE,      ......  39 

V. — BORROWED  PLUMES,        .        .                ...  51 

VI. — A  DANGEROUS  GAME,     ......  63 

VII. — FROM  FAILURE— SUCCESS  !      .....  76 

VIII. — THE  EVE  OF  SAINT  BARTHOLOMEW,      ...  86 

IX. — THE  DEATH  KNELL,       ......  91 

X.— THE  ASSASSINATION  OF  COLIGNV,          ...  97 

XI.— THE  KING'S  PHYSICIAN,         .....  103 

XII. — AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  GREEN  DRAGON,         .       .  in 
XIII. — A  DUEL  WITH  SWORD  AND  DAGGER,    .       .        .121 

XIV. — A  PORT  IN  A  STORM,     .                        ...  127 

XV. — MADAME  LA  DUCHESSB,                  .        .        *        .  135 

XVI. — IN  FROCK  AND  COWL,    ......  147 

XVII.— "I  EXACT  THE  PRICE  OF  BLOOD!*        .       .       .159 

XVIII. — BY  GRACE  OF  GOD,  KINO  OF  FRANCE,          .       .  169 

XIX. — BENEATH  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  AXE,    .        .       .  176 

XX. — BY  ROYAL  COMMAND,    ......  189 

XXI. — RAOUL  TO  THE  RESCUEI        .....  199 

XXII. — CAUGHT  IN  THE  TOILS,          .       .       ...       .  210 

XXIII.— THE  CLOSED  DOOR, 218 

XXIV. — 'TWIXT  HAMMER  AND  ANVIL,        ....  231 

XXV. — PLOT  AND  COUNTERPLOT,       .        .        .        .        .  242 

XXVI. — BELOW  THE  QUEEN'S  BALCONY,     ....  252 

XXVII.— "THE  KING  OF  NAVARRE  is  HERE!"     .  .260 

XXVIII. — LOVE  THE  CONQUEROR! 272 

XXIX.— "THERE  is  A  WEAPON  1  DEFEND  YOURSELF I"       .  283 

XXX.—  WON  AT  LAST, 292 


2135187 


A  GENTLEMAN  FROM  GASCONY. 

A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  HUGUENOTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    LAST    OF    HIS   RACE. 

"  MORDIOU,  I  must  do  it !  It  is  the  only  chance  left 
me  now!" 

And,  with  a  sigh,  the  young  Chevalier  de  Puycadere 
glanced  sorrowfully  up  at  the  ancient  pile  before  him. 

There  was  a  time  once,  in  the  days  of  the  second 
Henry  of  blessed  memory,  when  the  chateau  de  Puy- 
cadere had  haughtily  upreared  its  castellated  head,  as 
if  in  proud  consciousness  that  it  was  one  of  the  most 
magnificent  habitations  in  Gascony,  if  not  in  all  of 
France. 

But  alas,  like  the  noble  family  whose  name  it  bore, 
how  were  its  glories  faded! 

Its  walls  were  crumbling,  its  battlements  and  towers 
almost  in  ruins,  its  windows  broken  and  gaping — in 
fact,  its  whole  appearance  well-nigh  disreputable  save 
where  the  thick  ivy  had  thrown  a  generous  mantle  of 
charity  over  its  vanished  splendor. 

Of  all  the  wide  domains  that  had  once  surrounded  it, 
like  vassals  about  their  suzerain,  there  now  remained 
to  the  last  scion  of  the  Puycaderes  but  a  few  wretched 
acres,  uncultivated,  neglected,  forlorn. 


8  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

Wars,  confiscations,  and  persecutions  had  robbed  the 
former  and  the  present  owner  of  this  once  fair  estate  of 
almost  all  their  possessions.  Huguenots  the  Puycaderes 
had  always  been.  Huguenots  they  would  remain !  And, 
with  the  Catholic  party  so  long  in  the  ascendant,  their 
devotion  to  their  cause  had  proved  their  worldly  ruin. 

Yet  very  dear  to  the  eyes  of  their  master  were  those 
impoverished  lands,  with  their  tangle  of  foliage,  where 
the  flowers  in  their  crimson  and  purple  and  gold  strove 
to  throw  off  the  choking  grasp  of  the  invading  weeds, 
all  illumined  now  as  they  were  by  the  August  sunlight, 
vivid,  gorgeous,  resplendent. 

But  if  the  chateau  and  grounds  were  marked  with 
every  sign  of  downfall  and  decay,  so  was  not  their 
owner,  the  last  representative  of  his  race. 

In  this  month  of  August,  1572,  Raoul  de  Puycadere 
was  in  the  full  flush  of  youth,  strength,  and  manly 
beauty.  His  figure  was  lithe  but  muscular.  A  profu- 
sion of  reddish-brown  hair  escaped  from  beneath  his 
slouch  hat.  His  complexion  was  bronzed,  a  small  mus- 
tache shaded  a  beautifully  cut  mouth,  full  of  white  teeth, 
and  his  large  eyes  were  gray,  save  in  moments  of  ex- 
citement when  they  sparkled  so  fiercely  that  they  seemed 
almost  black. 

His  dress  showed  the  decayed  gentleman.  His  doub- 
let and  the  short  cloak  worn  jauntily  over  one  shoulder 
had  originally  been  of  fine  quality,  but  were  now 
frayed,  faded,  and  patched;  his  broad-brimmed  hat 
with  its  drooping  feathers  showed  marked  signs  of  wind 
and  weather,  and  the  long  boots  of  untanned  leather 
which  reached  far  above  the  knees  could  have  been 
rendered  more  serviceable  by  a  cobbler's  skilful  hand. 

"Yes,"  he  repeated  aloud,  as  if  apostrophizing  the 
gray  walls,  "  the  die  is  cast.  When  I  see  thee  again,  if 


THE   LAST    OF    HIS   RACE.  9 

ever,  home  of  my  ancestors,  thou  shalt  receive  a  garb 
more  worthy  of  thy  dignity." 

And  he  laughed  merrily  at  the  conceit.  The  hopes 
of  youth  are  hard  to  smother.  It  is  only  in  the  pathway 
of  the  old  that  the  wall  of  despair  rises,  dark  and  im- 
penetrable in  its  strength. 

The  echoes  of  the  young  chevalier's  laughter  had 
scarce  died  away  when  round  the  house,  from  the  weed- 
grown  avenue  that  led  to  the  stables,  hobbled  a  little, 
dried-up  old  man,  leading  a  horse  which,  with  its  knock- 
knees  and  its  thin  sides  through  which  the  ribs  showed 
plainly,  was  almost  as  sorry  a  looking  beast  as  the  far- 
famed  Rosinante  itself. 

"Ah!  woe  the  day!"  quavered  the  old  man,  as  he 
caught  sight  of  his  master.  "  Why  do  you  desert  the 
old  place?  I  shall  never  see  you  again." 

"Nonsense,  my  good  Frangois,"  cried  the  young  man 
cheerily,  leaping  down  the  steps  three  at  a  time.  "  Keep 
up  a  brave  heart,  old  fellow.  You  never  whimpered 
like  this,  when  my  father — Heaven  rest  his  soul — and  I 
were  off  to  the  wars  in  Flanders." 

The  old  man  shook  his  head  dolefully. 

"  That  was  different !  That  was  different!  There  is 
less  daaiger  on  the  battle-field  than  in  that  terrible  city 
of  Paris.  It  is  a  dragon  with  open  jaws  ready  to  devour 
all  that  is  best  in  France.  I  know  it!  I  know  it! 
And, "  sinking  his  voice  as  if  fearful  of  being  overheard, 
"they  hate  the  Huguenots  there." 

"Nay,  nay,  not  so.  'Times  change  and  we  change 
in  them, '  as  I  learned  in  my  classics.  With  Harry  of 
Navarre  in  the  Louvre  and  the  husband  of  the  king's 
sister,  a  Huguenot  is  as  safe  in  Paris  as  he  is  in  Gas- 
cony,  aye  in  Be"arn  itself.  Indeed,  my  good  Francois,  I 
am  not  romancing,"  he  added,  as  the  old  man  refused 


IO  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

to  be  comforted,  "  although  you  seem  to  think  I  am. 
Oh,  yes,  like  all  true  Gascons,  I  can  pull  the  long  bow 
upon  occasions.  But  I  am  telling  you  now  only  the 
simple  truth. " 

"But  why  go  at  all?" 

"What,  and  eat  out  my  heart  here,  living  over  the 
past  greatness  of  my  family!  What  would  one  of  my 
ancestors,  of  whom  you  are  so  fond  of  boasting,  have 
said  to  that?  No!  No!  Paris  for  me!  Paris  which 
holds  my  fortune!" 

"  Heaven  grant  it  may!" 

But  old  Frangois'  face,  as  sorrowful  as  that  of  Niobe 
herself,  revealed  that  he  had  little  hope  of  the  realiza- 
tion of  his  devoutly  expressed  wish. 

"Mordiou,  I  cannot  stay  chattering  here!"  suddenly 
ejaculated  the  chevalier.  "  I  have  many  a  league  to 
traverse  before  nightfall.  Here,  Frangois,  take  this," 
and  opening  a  purse  which  he  drew  from  the  bosom  of 
his  doublet,  he  forced  into  the  old  man's  palm,  in  spite 
of  the  recipient's  stoutly  expressed  reluctance,  five 
broad  pieces  of  gold. 

"  And  now,  farewell,  my  faithful  old  friend !  What, 
would  you  make  me  play  the  woman!"  as  he  noted  the 
tears  streaming  down  the  wrinkled  cheeks  of  his  trusty 
servitor. 

He  pressed  the  good  old  man  to  his  breast,  patting 
him  encouragingly  on  the  back.  Then,  leaping  into 
the  saddle,  he  started  his  steed  down  the  avenue  at  a 
pace  really  quite  creditable  to  that  woebegone  animal. 
As  well  as  he  could  through  the  mist  that  clouded  his 
sight  old  Frangois  watched  his  young  master's  depar- 
ture, until  in  a  turn  of  the  highway  both  horse  and  rider 
vanished  from  his  vision. 

But  there  was  neither  sorrow  nor  foreboding  in  the 


THE   LAST   OF   HIS  RACE.  ll 

breast  of  Raoul  de  Puycadere,  as  he  rode  happily  along 
through  the  shady  lanes  and  past  the  vineyards  of  this 
garden  land  of  France.  All  his  dreams  of  the  future 
were  tinged  with  gold  and  rose-color.  Enthusiastic 
with  anticipation,  he  carolled  forth  in  his  fresh,  young 
voice  that  old  ballad  of  the  Gascon  land : 

Mon  aiettl  etait  rossignol, 

Ma  grand 'mere  etait  hirondelle! 

Ohe.  le  pays  Gascon ! 

Oh£,  le  pays  Gascon ! 

Nothing  of  note  happened  during  the  rest  of  the 
afternoon.  The  old  horse  soon  tired  of  its  little  burst 
of  spirits  and  could  only  at  rare  intervals  be  forced  out 
of  a  walk. 

Shortly  after  sunset,  Raoul  rode  into  the  village  of 
Riconde,  a  wretched  little  hamlet,  consisting  mostly  of 
hovels.  Inquiring  of  a  peasant,  who  was  making  his 
way  home  bending  beneath  a  load  of  faggots,  he  learned 
that  the  place  boasted  a  sort  of  inn  where  possibly,  the 
peasant  was  inclined  to  be  doubtful,  but  possibly  refresh- 
ment for  man  and  beast  might  be  obtained. 

When  he  arrived  at  the  spot  indicated,  De  Puycadere 
discovered  that  it  was  a  low,  ramshackle  sort  of  an  affair 
with  nothing  inviting  about  it.  But  as  he  was  desper- 
ately hungry  and  moderately  tired  as  well,  he  deter- 
mined to  try  his  luck,  and  reining  in  his  steed,  a  process 
almost  superfluous,  he  began  bawling  lustily  for  the 
landlord. 

It  was  some  moments  before  any  one  appeared,  but 
finally  the  door  opened,  and  a  woman  peered  forth,  with 
blinking  eyes,  a  woman  so  old  that  by  a  slight  stretch 
of  the  imagination  she  might  have  been  considered  a 
contemporary  of  those  who  inhabited  the  ark. 


10  A  GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

"Hoik,  mother!"  cried  the  chevalier  briskly,  "will 
you  send  some  one  to  take  charge  of  my  horse?  and  have 
you  aught  to  give  me  for  supper?" 

"  Put  your  horse  up  yourself,"  croaked  the  old  woman. 
"  There's  a  shed  yonder.  And  as  for  supper,  perchance 
you  can  have  something,  if  you  have  the  wherewithal 
to  pay  for  it." 

"Oh!  rest  easy  as  to  that!"  laughed  Raoul,  leaping 
lightly  to  the  ground. 

He  led  his  tired  animal  to  the  shed  indicated  by  the 
woman,  and  having  tethered  it,  he  hunted  about  and 
found  fodder  in  a  corner  of  the  building. 

Having  attended  to  the  creature  comforts  of  his  horse, 
he  gave  a  hasty  glance  about  him.  He  noticed  that 
there  were  three  other  horses  tied  in  the  shed,  two  of 
whom  gave  evidence  of  long  and  hard  riding.  Just 
outside  was  drawn  up  a  goodly  sized  van,  on  the  canvas 
sides  of  which  was  painted  in  sprawling  letters  the 
word  Gelosi. 

Crossing  the  courtyard,  he  entered  the  cabaret  itself, 
which  proved  to  consist  of  only  one  rather  large  room, 
with  rush-strewn  floor,  and  sparsely  furnished  with 
rough  tables  and  benches.  The  light  from  half  a  dozen 
spluttering  candles  was  dim,  and  the  air  was  so  dense 
with  the  smoke  from  the  turf  fire  burning  on  the  hearth 
that  Raoul  could  see  scarcely  a  dozen  feet  before  him. 

He  managed,  however,  to  grope  his  way  to  one  of  the 
tables,  and  was  immediately  served  by  the  beldame 
with  a  mess  of  steaming  porridge  and  a  bottle  of  sour 
wine. 

The  fare  was  not  very  appetizing,  but  the  chevalier 
was  too  hungry  to  quarrel  with  what  was  set  before  him, 
and  he  fell  to  with  a  will. 

The  cravings  of  the  inner  man  appeased,  he  raised 


THE   LAST    OF    HIS   RACE.  IJ 

his  head  and  proceeded  to  take  an  inventory  of  his  sur- 
roundings. His  eyes  had  now  become  somewhat  accus- 
tomed to  the  atmosphere,  and  he  perceived  for  the  first 
time  that  he  was  not  the  sole  guest  of  the  place. 

A  short  distance  down  the  room  were  two  burly  fel- 
lows with  coarse,  repulsive  countenances,  who  had  been 
staring  curiously  at  the  newcomer,  but  immediately 
averted  their  gaze  as  they  became  conscious  that  they 
were  observed. 

Just  across  from  the  table  occupied  by  De  Puycadere 
was  seated  a  group  of  four,  two  men  and  two  women. 
Their  swarthy  complexions,  jet-black  hair  and  big  dark 
eyes,  together  with  their  fantastic  garb,  proclaimed 
their  race.  They  evidently  belonged  to  one  of  those 
nomadic  bands  of  Tzigani  who  were  on  their  way  to 
Paris  to  pick  up  an  occasional  honest  and  more  often 
still  dishonest  coin,  attracting  the  public  by  their  songs, 
dances,  and  predictions  of  the  future. 

After  a  few  hurried  words  with  the  man  who  was 
evidently  the  leader  of  the  party,  one  of  the  girls  rose 
and  modestly  approached  Raoul's  table. 

She  was  an  exceedingly  pretty  creature  of  the  dark 
Egyptian  type,  and  the  Orientalism  of  her  appearance 
was  heightened  by  the  bizarre,  brilliant  colors  of  her 
dress  and  the  band  of  gilded  sequins  which,  passed 
about  her  head,  dangled  low  over  her  dark  forehead. 

"  Will  the  noble  gentleman  cross  the  poor  Tzigana's 
hand?"  she  began,  with  a  pretty  smile.  "And  Mirza 
will  tell  him  of  the  future. " 

De  Puycadere  smiled  good-humoredly  back,  and  pro- 
ducing his  purse,  proceeded  to  select  a  silver  piece  with 
which  to  grant  the  gypsy's  request. 

The  glitter  of  the  money  caught  the  observation  of 
one  of  the  rough-looking  men  seated  farther  down  the 


14  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

room,  and  an  evil,  covetous  look  gleamed  for  a  moment 
in  his  eyes.  Turning  to  his  companion  he  uttered  a  few 
low,  rapid  words. 

Mirza  was  attentively  examining  the  lines  in  the 
chevalier's  hand.  Suddenly,  she  uttered  a  cry  and, 
raising  her  head,  beckoned  to  her  companions. 

The  others  approached  and  joined  in  the  examination, 
meanwhile  talking  volubly  to  one  another  in  some 
strange,  musical  language. 

"Well,  am  I  not  to  know  your  discovery?"  asked 
Raoul,  laughing. 

"Ah,  monsieur,"  said  the  girl  named  Mirza,  "'tis  a 
strange  future  the  lines  foretell,  and  a  happy  future  too, 
unless "  and  she  hesitated. 

"Well,  unless?" 

"  Unless  all  is  brought  to  a  sudden  ending. " 

"A  sudden  ending?" 

"Yes,  monsieur.  There  is  much  peril  in  store  for 
you.  If  you  survive,  all  will  be  well.  But,  whether 
you  survive  or  not  is  beyond  the  gypsy's  lore  to  predict." 

"  Mordiou!  With  a  good  sword  and  a  stout  arm  I'll 
take  the  risk.  And  now,  I'll  away.  I've  loitered  too 
long  already."1 

"  Monsieur  is  not  going  to-night?"  asked  Mirza,  with 
an  anxious  ring  in  her  voice. 

"  By  my  faith,  I  am.     I  sleep  in  Creux  to-night." 

At  these  words,  the  two  men  at  the  other  end  of  the 
room  rose  and  passed  hurriedly  out  of  the  cabaret.  In 
another  moment,  the  clatter  of  hoofs  was  heard  without. 

"I  beg  monsieur  not  to  go  to-night,"  insisted  the 
Tzigana,  with  increased  earnestness.  "  I — I  am  afraid. " 

"  Peste!  my  pretty  one,"  returned  Raoul  with  careless 
confidence.  "Raoul  de  Puycadere  can  take  care  of 
himself." 


THE    LAST    OF    HIS   RACE.  Ig 

The  girl  made  a  gesture  expressive  of  helplessness, 
but  said  no  more. 

Raoul  paid  his  reckoning,  and,  after  a  cheery  good- 
night to  the  gypsies,  left  the  sordid  inn,  mounted  his 
horse,  and  was  soon  on  his  way  to  Creux. 

Night  had  fallen.  There  was  no  moon,  and  it  was  so 
dark  that  the  poor  horse,  whom  neither  threats  nor 
cajoleries  could  induce  to  move  faster  than  a  walk,  had 
difficulty  in  picking  his  way. 

Raoul  finally  ceased  his  efforts,  and,  allowing  his 
steed  to  proceed  at  his  own  gait,  gave  himself  up  to 
reflection. 

He  had  ridden  thus  slowly  for  perhaps  an  hour,  when 
suddenly  he  was  startled  by  the  neighing  of  a  horse  just 
beyond  a  hedge  on  one  side  of  the  highway. 

The  next  moment  a  heavy  body  alighted  with  a  thump 
just  behind  him  upon  the  haunches  of  his  spiritless 
animal. 

Before  he  could  utter  a  cry  or  make  a  movement  for 
defence,  a  thick  cloak  was  flung  over  his  head,  and  he 
was  dragged  from  his  horse,  which  had  stopped  short 
at  the  disturbance. 

He  felt  himself  in  the  grasp  of  four  muscular  arms, 
and  struggled  furiously  to  free  himself,  but  all  in  vain. 
He  was  raised  from  his  feet  and  dashed  violently  down 
upon  the  hard  roadway.  He  felt  a  terrible  pain  dart 
through  his  temple,  as  his  head  came  in  contact  with 
some  unyielding  object,  and  then  he  knew  no  more. 
Consciousness  had  left  him. 


CHAPTER  II. 

SHADOWS   BEFORE. 

"CoRBLEu!  Let  them  sing  and  shout  while  they 
may !  By  the  corns  of  Saint  Ursula,  my  name  is  not 
Annibal  Goujon  if  some  of  the  knaves  do  not  dance  to  a 
different  tune  before  this  day  week.  Oh!  shout  for 
Navarre!  Ere  long  you'll  have  no  tongues  to  cry 
4 Vive'  to  him  and  his  beggarly  crew !  By  sword  and 
hilt,  were  I  the  Duke  of  Guise,  I'd  slit  those  same 
tongues  now  without  further  ado!" 

And  the  speaker,  a  stout,  red-faced  man,  with  little 
cunning  eyes  like  those  of  a  ferret,  half  drew  the  heavy 
long  sword  that  dangled  at  his  side,  and  with  an  oath 
clashed  it  back  again  into  its  scabbard. 

The  pretty,  dark-eyed  little  woman  at  his  side  started, 
and  cast  a  half -fearful  glance  upon  his  crimson  counte- 
nance. Accustomed  as  she  was  to  her  husband's  boast- 
ing as  to  deeds  of  prowess  and  bloodshed  in  which  he 
had  been  or  was  to  be  the  doughty  hero,  there  was 
something  in  his  manner  now  which  boded  more  than 
his  usual  bravado. 

The  pair  were  standing  on  the  narrow  platform  of  the 
hostelry  known  as  "The  Rising  Sun,"  in  the  Place 
Royale  of  the  village  of  Saint  Germain.  Above  their 
heads  swayed  slowly  in  the  morning  breeze  the  sign- 
board— the  head  of  the  young  Duke  of  Guise,  sur- 
rounded by  a  sunburst,  golden  rays  stretching  in  all 
directions. 


SHADOWS    BEFORE.  If 

The  Rising  Sun !  More  than  one  curious  passer-by 
had  of  late  fastened  his  eyes  upon  the  sign  and  asked 
himself  if  there  were  aught  of  augury  in  the  painted 
board. 

Annibal  Goujon's  breast  swelled  like  a  pouter  pig- 
eon's beneath  his  gorgeous  uniform  of  red  and  yellow. 
Although  sergeant  in  the  King's  Musketeers,  the  worthy 
man  found  means  to  fill  his  purse  in  divers  other  ways. 
He  was  proprietor  of  the  Rising  Sun,  and,  unless  rumor 
spoke  false,  did  not  disdain  to  do  quite  a  flourishing  lit- 
tle trade  as  a  pawnbroker  and  usurer. 

To  be  sure,  Rose,  his  wife,  was  of  great  assistance 
to  him  in  these  latter  enterprises.  Indeed,  during  An- 
nibal's  enforced  absences  while  on  duty,  she  was  the 
virtual  mistress  of  the  inn,  and  more  than  one  golden 
crown  flowed  into  its  coffers  more  for  the  sake  of  a 
glance  from  the  bright  eyes  and  a  smile  from  the  cherry 
lips  of  the  pretty  proprietress  than  for  the  good  cheer 
to  be  obtained  within  the  tavern  itself. 

It  was  an  animated  scene  the  ill-matched  twain  gazed 
upon  this  lovely  summer's  morning. 

The  village  of  Saint  Germain  was  in  full  festival  at- 
tire. 

The  inns  and  even  the  private  houses  were  filled 
from  cellar  to  attic,  and  the  streets  and  public 
squares  crowded  with  a  boisterous  throng  of  merry- 
makers. 

At  every  corner  one  ran  across  booths  containing 
goods  of  every  description  and  eatables  and  drinkables 
that  defied  description,  together  with  bands  of  peripatetic 
comedians,  acrobats,  giants,  dwarfs,  trained  animals, 
and  Heaven  knows  what  else  besides! 

In  the  main  it  was  a  jocund,  good-natured  crowd,  but 
here  and  there  a  lowering  face,  an  impatient  gesture, 


l8  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

a  muttered  curse  betokened  that  all  were  not  in  har- 
mony with  the  general  gayety. 

And  yet,  forsooth,  why  should  not  the  loyal  subjects 
of  his  most  Christian  Majesty  of  France  be  in  gay  and 
festival  mood? 

A  few  days  before,  the  isth  of  August,  1572,  had  been 
celebrated,  with  great  pomp  and  magnificence,  the 
marriage  of  Marguerite  de  Valois,  sister  of  Charles  IX., 
to  Henri  de  Bourbon,  the  young  king  of  Navarre. 

This  union  of  Catholic  and  Huguenot  had  vastly  sur- 
prised everybody,  and  given  rise  to  much  surmise  in 
the  minds  of  the  more  subtle  spirits  of  both  parties. 

On  the  whole,  however,  the  Huguenots  rejoiced 
greatly  and  believed  that  an  end  had  now  come  to  the 
persecution  they  had  suffered  from  for  so  many  terrible 
years. 

How  could  they  think  otherwise? 

Had  not  the  king  openly  declared:  "In  giving  my 
sister  Margot  to  Henri  of  Navarre,  I  give  her  to  all  the 
Protestants  of  the  kingdom"? 

Had  not  the  venerable  Admiral  Coligny,  the  noted 
Huguenot,  who  for  five  or  six  years  had  been  so  bitterly 
opposed  to  the  king,  come  to  Paris  to  be  present  at  the 
wedding  of  his  beloved  pupil,  the  young  ruler  of  Na- 
varre? Had  not  Charles  himself  welcomed  the  old  man 
with  almost  filial  affection? 

And  yet  over  all,  to  the  eyes  of  those  who  had  eyes 
to  see,  hovered  the  sinister,  revengeful  figure  of  the 
Duke  of  Guise,  whom,  youthful  as  he  was,  the  Catholics 
looked  up  to  as  the  chief  of  their  party,  just  as  the  Hugue- 
nots considered  Harry  of  Navarre  to  be  their  leader. 

A  little  apart  from  the  general  movement  and  gayety 
in  the  Place  Royale,  drawn  up  beneath  a  blank  wall, 
under  the  shadow  of  the  picturesque  eaves  of  the  Rising 


SHADOWS   BEFORE.  19 

Sun,  was  a  gypsy's  van,  with  the  word  Gelosi  painted 
in  huge  characters  upon  its  white  canvas  sides. 

Close  to  the  van  and  out  of  earshot  of  the  joyous  revel- 
lers stood  two  men,  looking  on  with  anything  but  sym- 
pathy at  the  general  merry-making.  Their  haughty 
bearing  and  rich  attire  indicated  that  they  belonged  to 
the  nobility,  as  indeed  was  the  case. 

One  was  a  man  of  perhaps  thirty-five,  of  somewhat 
stalwart  build  and  with  jet-black  hair  and  mustache. 
While  his  features  were  regular  and  even  handsome, 
there  was  something  in  his  expression  which  would  have 
warned  a  student  of  Lavater  to  beware  crossing  his 
will.  Supremely  selfish,  crushing  ruthlessly  all  that 
threatened  to  cross  his  ambition,  and  yet  knowing  well 
at  need  how  to  veil  his  thoughts  and  purposes  beneath 
the  suavest  of  manners,  the  Vicomte  Hector  de  Vrissac 
stood  high  at  court  in  the  graces  of  the  king  and  the 
queen  mother,  Catherine  de  Medicis.  The  latter, 
shrewd  and  crafty  woman  that  she  was,  believed  that 
every  man  has  his  price,  and  she  had  long  since  discov- 
ered that  De  Vrissac  could  be  depended  on  for  almost 
any  sort  of  work,  provided  his  services  were  properly 
recompensed. 

The  Vicomte's  companion  was  a  mere  youth,  not 
more  than  twenty,  but  of  a  muscular  figure  which  told 
of  considerable  strength,  and  a  bright,  handsome,  win- 
ning countenance,  in  spite  of  the  slight  marks  of  dissi- 
pation which  a  life  of  careless  pleasure-seeking  had 
already  imprinted  upon  it. 

As  the  little  red  eyes  of  Sergeant  Goujon  roamed 
restlessly  here  and  there  about  the  square,  they  chanced 
to  rest  upon  the  figures  of  the  two  noblemen  near  the 
gypsy's  van.  And  then  a  sudden  transformation  took 
place.  Annibal  drew  himself  up  with  all  the  puffed-up 


SO  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM   GASCONY. 

majesty  of  a  turkey-cock,  gave  his  breast  a  resounding 
slap,  and  turning  to  his  wife,  said : 

"  Ah !  I  perceive  a  good  friend  of  mine,  my  dear,  a 
very  good  friend,  the  noble  Vicomte  de  Vrissac,"  and 
his  tongue  seemed  to  roll  over  the  title  as  if  it  had  been 
a  toothsome  morsel.  "  One  word  with  him,  and  I  must 
away.  You  understand  of  course — although,  by  the 
beard  of  St.  Bridget,  Annibal  Goujon  is  too  long-headed 
to  confide  his  secrets  to  a  woman — how  serious  are  the 
motives  which  compel  me  to  absent  myself  from  you 
to-day.  Remember,  I  leave  in  your  hands  all  my 
interests." 

"  And  when  do  you  return?"  asked  Rose,  indifferently. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  and  he  eyed  her  in  a  half -suspicious 
manner,  then  continuing  with  emphasis,  "  but  act  pre- 
cisely as  if  I  were  about  to  return  the  very  next  instant." 

Did  Rose  shrug  her  shoulders  at  this  veiled  threat? 
Goujon  was  not  quite  sure,  not  sure  enough  at  all  events 
to  take  any  notice  of  it.  So,  contenting  himself  with 
what  he  had  already  said,  he  placed  one  pudgy  finger 
beneath  his  wife's  dimpled  chin,  and,  bending  forward, 
imprinted  a  kiss  upon  her  lips — a  salute  not  too  well  rel- 
ished by  the  recipient,  if  one  were  to  judge  by  the  moue 
she  made  the  moment  her  lord  and  master  had  turned 
his  back. 

Straight  to  the  van  strutted  the  portly  sergeant,  thor- 
oughly convinced  in  his  own  mind  that  he  was  the 
observed  of  all  observers,  the  envied  of  all  enviers. 

As  the  younger  of  the  two  noblemen  caught  sight  of 
him,  he  burst  out  laughing,  and,  turning  to  his  com- 
panion, began  some  jesting  remark  little  flattering  to 
the  vanity  of  the  self-satisfied  sergeant  had  he  heard  it; 
but,  fortunately  for  the  latter's  conceit,  the  words  were 
cut  short  by  a  low,  quick  "  Chut!"  from  De  Vrissac. 


SHADOWS    BEFORE.  21 

Goujon  advanced  until  he  was  close  to  their  elbows, 
then,  doffing  his  plumed  hat,  he  bowed  as  low  as  his 
decidedly  corpulent  anatomy  would  permit. 

Then,  raising  himself  to  his  full  height,  he  fixed  his 
eyes  upon  De  Vrissac,  and,  with  much  solemnity,  uttered 
the  one  word : 

"  Guise!" 

De  Vrissac's  face  darkened,  and  he  made  as  if  to  utter 
some  sharp  rejoinder,  but  he  evidently  thought  better 
of  it,  for,  after  a  quick  glance  about  him,  he  replied 
with  equal  solemnity: 

"Guise!" 

"All!" 

"All!" 

"  By  order  of  the  king. " 

"  By  order  of  the  king  and  the  great  Henri." 

"When  strikes  the  clock  of  Saint  Germain  1'Auxer- 
rois. " 

"  At  the  first  sound  of  the  tocsin. " 

"  'Tis  agreed." 

"'Tis  agreed." 

Goujon  paused,  with  a  grin  of  satisfaction  overspread- 
ing his  coarse,  crafty  features.  The  mysterious  cate- 
chism, countersign,  or  whatever  it  might  be,  was 
evidently  ended.  The  young  Duke  de  Bassompierre — 
for  De  Vrissac's  companion  bore  one  of  the  proudest 
names  in  France — had  listened  with  ever-increasing 
amazement  to  the  parley  between  the  ill-matched  pair. 
But  there  was  another  listener,  with  whom  it  would  have 
fared  ill  had  his  eavesdropping  been  discovered  by  the 
choleric  De  Vrissac.  Crouched  within  the  van  was  a 
young  man  who  had  eagerly  drunk  in  every  word  with  an 
amazement  and  bewilderment  quite  equal  to  the  duke's. 

After  a  moment's  silence,  De  Vrissac  spoke  again. 


ftf  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM 

"Look  you,  Master  Goujon,"  he  said,  sternly  and  with 
little  or  no  attempt  to  conceal  his  annoyance,  "  and  pay 
strict  heed  to  my  words.  Evidently,  you  have  learned 
your  lesson  well.  So  far,  so  good!  But  discretion  is 
a  virtue  you  apparently  lack.  Beware  how  you  speak 
again  in  public  places.  Bridle  your  tongue,  and  see 
that  it  wags  no  more  like  the  clapper  behind  an  old 
gossip's  lips.  Good-day!" 

Goujon's  face  fell.  Crestfallen,  he  made  another 
low  obeisance,  then,  turning,  strode  away  with  but  a 
poor  assumption  of  his  former  jauntiness,  and  was  soon 
lost  in  the  crowd. 

"  Really  this  is  most  extraordinary,  my  dear  Hector," 
began  the  duke.  "  What,  you,  the  Vicomte " 

"Tush!"  interrupted  De  Vrissac,  testily.  "A  few 
more  magpies  like  that,  and  our  great  cause  is  lost." 

"  Our  great  cause?" 

"  Certainly.  Your  cause,  my  cause,  the  cause  of  all 
good  Catholics,  the  cause  of  the  great  Henri!" 

"What  Henri?" 

"There  is  only  one." 

"  And  he?" 

"Henri  of  Guise." 

De  Bassompierre  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then 
he  said  slowly,  waving  his  hand  toward  the  crowd  in 
the  Place  Roy  ale: 

"To  judge  from  this  scene,  one  might  think  there 
was  another  Henri  in  France — Henri  of  Navarre." 

With  a  smothered  malediction,  the  vicomte  laid  his 
hand  feverishly  upon  the  jewelled  hilt  of  the  dagger  he 
wore  at  his  belt. 

"By  the  mass!"  he  replied  in  a  low,  tense  voice,  "let 
Navarre  enjoy  his  glory  while  he  may.  'Twill  be 
short-lived,  I  promise  that." 


SHADOWS   BEFORE.  23 

A  strange  expression,  half  curiosity,  half  offence, 
passed  over  the  young  duke's  face,  and  then  he  laid  his 
hand,  in  its  embroidered  gauntlet,  impulsively  upon  the 
other's  arm. 

"  Hector,  I  am  no  fool,  and  there  is  some  plan  afoot. 
I  can  well  see  that.  Why,  as  a  good  Catholic  and  a 
peer  of  France,  am  I  kept  without  the  confidences  of 
our  party?" 

"  All  in  good  time,  all  in  good  time,  my  dear  Paul. 
Your  mother  especially " 

"Mort  de  ma  vie!"  interrupted  the  young  man,  an- 
grily, "  I  am  no  longer  in  leading-strings. " 

"  Certainly  not.  I  did  not  mean  to  intimate  it,"  said 
De  Vrissac,  soothingly.  "  Be  content.  I  promise  you 
that  you  shall  know  all  no  later  than  to-night.  By  the 
way,"  with  a  sudden  change  of  manner,  "did  you  know 
that  yesterday  when  Admiral  Coligny  was  passing  the 
house  of  Canon  Piles,  he  was  shot  at?" 

"  Shot  at?     No!     Was  he  killed?" 

"  No.  He  had  his  arm  broken  and  two  fingers  taken 
off.  But  it  is  hoped  the  balls  were  poisoned." 

"Hoped!" 

De  Vrissac  deliberately  faced  the  duke,  and  threw 
straight  in  the  young  man's  eyes  a  look  full  of  the 
deepest  significance. 

"Feared!  Feared!"  he  corrected  slowly.  "  Did  I  say 
hoped?  It  was  a  slip  of  the  tongue." 

Was  it  fancy,  or  at  this  moment  did  De  Vrissac  hear 
a  muffled  ejaculation  which  certainly  did  not  proceed 
from  his  comrade. 

However,  before  he  could  investigate,  the  tete-a-tete 
was  rudely  broken  in  upon.  A  party  of  four  gypsies, 
closely  followed  by  a  laughing,  noisy  crowd,  came  hur- 
riedly up  to  the  van. 


»4  A  GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

The  foremost  of  the  Tzigani,  a  swarthy  man,  with 
brilliant  black  eyes,  took  a  flying  leap  to  the  top  of  the 
short  flight  of  steps  in  front  of  the  canvas  door,  and  fac- 
ing the  tumultuous  throng,  raised  his  hand  in  mute 
appeal. 

As  soon  as  silence  was  partially  restored,  he  struck 
an  attitude,  and  harangued  the  people  as  follows : 

"Messieurs  and  mesdames,  lords  and  noble  ladies. 
The  Signer  Pharos  here  present,  the  director  of  this  in- 
comparable troupe,  thanks  you.  Have  patience,  he 
beseeches  you,  and  this  evening  you  will  be  well  re- 
warded for  your  courtesy.  A  wonderful  performance, 
unparalleled  juggling,  dancing  such  as  the  Bacchantes 
never  equalled,  singing  to  give  you  a  foretaste  of  Para- 
dise, and  the  marvellous  comedy,  'The  Chevalier  who 
Sold  his  Wife  to  the  Devil!'  " 

A  roar  of  laughter  greeted  this,  and  after  it  had  sub- 
sided the  gypsy  continued : 

"  We  hope  that  your  enlightened  taste  will  accord  us 
a  greeting  like  to  that  we  have  received  throughout  all 
Italy,  where  we  had  the  distinguished  honor  to  appear 
before  princes. " 

With  sweeping  reverences  to  right  and  left,  amidst 
vociferous  applause,  the  celebrated  director  of  the  Gelosi 
troupe  descended  from  his  perch. 

As  the  rabble  gradually  melted  away,  he  turned  to 
one  of  the  Tzigani  near  him,  a  strikingly  handsome 
girl  with  the  midnight  eyes  and  raven  hair  of  her  race, 
and  said : 

"  Mirza,  I  don't  see  the  comrade  which  chance  cast  in 
our  company." 

"  The  poor  fellow  we  picked  up  half-dead  on  the  high- 
way?" 

"Exactly." 


SHADOWS   BEFORE.  2 5 

"He  sleeps,"  said  the  girl,  with  a  wave  of  her  shapely 
brown  hand  toward  the  van. 

"Then  he  has  slept  long  enough.  Awake  him,  Is- 
mael." 

"Ohe,  friend,  ohe"!"  cried  the  one  addressed  as  Is- 
mael.  "Wake  up!  Wake  up!"  and  seizing  a  padded 
stick,  he  struck  a  vigorous  blow  upon  the  gong  which 
hung  by  the  side  of  the  van. 

At  the  reverberation,  which  was  fit  to  wake  the  dead, 
the  crowd  came  hurrying  back,  fancying  some  enter- 
tainment to  be  in  store  for  them. 

"Come,  Paul,  come!"  said  De  Vrissac,  catching  the 
duke  by  the  arm.  "  We've  had  enough  of  this." 

"One  moment,"  pleaded  De  Bassompierre,  whose 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  gypsy  girl,  Mirza,  with  a  light 
in  them  not  pleasant  to  contemplate. 

"Come,  come,  I  say,  come,"  insisted  the  vicomte. 
"  One  bottle  at  the  Rising  Sun  and  then  for  Paris !" 

In  spite  of  himself  the  duke  was  compelled  to  yield, 
and,  forcing  their  way  through  the  crowd,  who,  im- 
pressed by  their  dress  and  bearing,  gave  way  respect- 
fully before  them,  the  two  friends  entered  the  cabaret. 

Scarcely  had  they  disappeared  within  the  hospitable 
portals  than  the  canvas  which  hung  loosely  over  the 
door  of  the  van  was  lifted  and  a  young  man  stepped  or. 
into  view. 

A  strange  figure  he  presented  as  he  stood  at  the  top 
of  the  steps,  a  little  dazzled  by  the  sudden  glare  of  sun- 
shine. Shreds  of  straw  ornamented  his  reddish-brown 
hair  dishevelled  by  sleep,  and  the  feathers  of  his  faded 
hat  hung  bedraggled  over  his  tattered  pourpoint.  More- 
over, he  was  plastered  with  mud,  and  his  clothes,  shabby 
enough  at  the  best,  were  in  a  woeful  plight.  He  was 
buckling  about  his  waist  a  sword,  the  hilt  and  scabbard 


26  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

of  which  were  of  exquisite  workmanship  and  contrasted 
strangely  with  the  rest  of  his  attire. 

In  spite  of  his  garb,  however,  there  was  an  indefin- 
able charm  about  him,  that  vague  something  which  pro- 
claims birth  and  breeding,  which  can  no  more  be  de- 
scribed than  can  the  odor  of  the  rose  and  which  neither 
poverty  nor  rags  can  ever  totally  efface. 

Rose  Goujon,  who,  attracted  by  the  noise,  was  leaning 
out  of  one  of  the  windows  of  the  inn,  was  not  far  wrong 
when  she  murmured  to  herself: 

"  Ma  foi !  In  spite  of  his  tattered  feathers  and  his 
pourpoint  of  the  time  of  Henri  II.,  he  is  superb!" 

The  newcomer  finished  buckling  his  sword-belt,  and, 
in  a  dazed  sort  of  way,  as  if  quite  unconscious  of  the 
people  about  him,  removed  his  hat  and  ran  his  fingers 
through  the  masses  of  his  hair,  revealing  as  he  did  so  a 
discolored  spot  just  above  the  temple,  a  reminiscence 
apparently  of  some  heavy  blow. 

"He's  a  queer-looking  fellow,"  observed  a  young 
man  in  the  cap  and  gown  of  a  scholar,  to  another  simi- 
larly attired. 

"Yes,"  was  the  laughing  response.  " I  would  wager 
that  he  is  the  chevalier  who  sold  his  wife  to  the  devil." 

"Chut!  chut!     He  is  going  to  speak. " 

The  tattered  gentleman  had  raised  his  eyes  to  the 
window  where  Rose  was,  and,  hat  in  hand,  courteously 
addressed  her : 

"What  are  all  these  people  doing  here?  Tell  me, 
gentle  lady — yes,  you  who  have  such  a  pretty  smile. 
Where  am  I,  pray?" 

"At  Saint  Germain,"  responded  Rose,  with  a  slight 
blush. 

"Saint  Germain!" 

In  bewilderment,  he  slowly  descended  the  steps  and 


SHADOWS   BEFORE.  27 

found  himself  face  to  face  with  the  Tzigani.  Then  it 
all  flashed  back  upon  him — the  departure  from  home, 
the  meeting  with  the  gypsies,  the  sudden  attack. 

"Are  you  better,  monsieur?"  said  a  timid  voice,  that 
of  Mirza. 

"  Yes,  yes.  So,  my  pretty  one,  part  of  your  prophecy 
has  already  come  true." 

"  Helas,  yes,  monsieur.  And  had  we  not  come  along 
in  time  for  Pharos  and  Ismael  to  beat  off  the  ruffians, 
your  plight  might  have  been  worse. " 

"Brave  fellows!"  and  he  grasped  a  hand  of  each  of 
the  gypsies. 

The  crowd  had  pressed  closer  and  was  standing  gap- 
ing with  curiosity.  As  Raoul  de  Puycadere  observed 
this,  the  absurdity  of  the  situation  dawned  upon  him, 
and  a  sudden  impulse  seized  him.  He  would  satisfy 
their  curiosity.  He  possessed  much  of  the  love  of  ro- 
mancing which  seems  to  be  the  birthright  of  every  true 
Gascon  and  which  has  given  rise  to  that  very  expressive 
word  "  gasconade. "  So,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  he 
began : 

"  Mordiou !  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  those  open 
mouths  and  those  noses  in  the  air?  Good  people,  you 
are  surprised,  are  you  not,  to  see  a  gentleman  in  such  a 
state?  Know  then " 

"Listen!  listen!" 

"  Know  then,"  continued  Raoul,  half  telling  the  truth 
and  half  drawing  on  his  imagination — "  Know  then 
that  three  leagues  from  here  I  was  assailed,  I  and  my 
people,  by  a  gang  of  scurvy  scamps,  who,  not  content 
with  robbing  me  of  my  horses  and  equipages  and  the 
considerable  sums  contained  in  my  coffers,  after  leaving 
me  for  dead  at  the  cost  of  fifteen  of  their  band  dis- 
patched by  me,  in  a  most  cowardly  manner  took  ad- 


j8  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM   GASCON*. 

vantage  of  the  unconsciousness  caused  by  my  loss  of 
blood,  to  despoil  me  of  the  raiment  proper  to  my  rank 
and  attire  me — attire,  Heaven  save  the  mark ! — in  these 
sordid  rags!  My  good  friends  can  attest  the  truth  of 
my  words,  if,"  fiercely,  "there  be  perchance  any  one 
here  who  dares  to  doubt  it!" 

Apparently  no  one  cared  to  take  up  the  challenge, 
and  after  a  moment's  pause  Raoul  continued,  growing 
more  and  more  audacious  in  his  statements  and  thor- 
oughly enjoying  the  ingenuous  wonder  of  his  auditors: 

"  Learn  that  you  have  before  you  the  Chevalier  Raoul 
de  Puycadere,  who  is  gentleman  enough  that  the  king 
calls  him  his  cousin — ahem !  after  drinking.  The  Chev- 
alier de  Puycadere,  I  say,  with  a  magnificent  chateau, 
donjons,  drawbridges,  moats,  and  towers,  and  a  hundred 
vassals  who  fly  to  obey  his  word  of  command.  I  have 
come  to  Paris  to  take  possession  of  an  enormous  estate 
to  which  I  have  fallen  heir,  and  to  salute  the  admiral, 
for  I  am  a  Huguenot. " 

How  long  this  diatribe,  with  its  strange  mixture  of 
fact  and  fancy,  would  have  continued  is  only  a  matter 
of  conjecture,  for  at  this  moment  a  commotion  arose  at 
the  other  side  of  the  square,  being  caused  by  the  arrival 
of  a  mountebank  with  a  couple  of  dancing  bears,  and 
in  a  trice  Raoul  found  himself  deserted  by  his  fickle 
auditors,  eager  for  a  new  sensation.  Even  the  gypsies 
followed  in  the  wake,  anxious  to  discover  the  attractions 
of  the  jival  fakirs. 

Left  to  himself,  Raoul  laughed  and  then  sighed. 
Already  he  was  a  little  ashamed  of  the  spirit  of  mis- 
chief which  had  led  him  to  deliver  such  an  oration  in 
public. 

Suddenly  he  thrust  his  hand  into  the  bosom  of  his 
doublet  and  as  quickly  withdrew  it  with  a  cry  of  rage. 


SHADOWS    BEFORE.  29 

His  purse,   containing  all  the  money  he  had  in   the 
world,  was  gone ! 

Doubtless  the  footpads  had  had  the  time  to  filch  it 
from  him  before  the  arrival  of  the  gypsies.  Where  now, 
a  penniless  adventurer,  were  the  rosy  hopes  he  had  set 
out  with  from  Puycadere? 


CHAPTER  III. 
GABRIELLE. 

"MONSIEUR." 

With  a  start  Raoul  turned  to  find  at  his  elbow  the 
rosy,  smiling  face  of  the  little  mistress  of  the  inn. 

The  impressionable  young  woman  had  from  the  first 
view  been  greatly  taken  with  the  handsome  face  of  the 
Gascon,  and  she  implicitly  believed  every  word  of  his 
rhodomontade. 

With  a  sudden  impulse  she  decided  to  befriend  him. 
Perhaps  this  resolve  was  not  wholly  disinterested. 
There  may  have  been  lurking  in  her  mind  the  idea  that 
so  noble  a  seigneur,  with  his  vast  fortune,  magnificent 
castle,  and  hundred  vassals,  would  not  prove  ungrateful 
in  a  pecuniary  way  for  any  kindness  shown  him  in  his 
time  of  need. 

Pretty  Rose  had  a  long  head  upon  her  graceful  shoul- 
ders. 

"Monsieur,"  she  began,  "I  may  be  bold  to  address 
you,  but " 

"Go  on,  my  dear,"  said  Raoul  encouragingly,  as  she 
hesitated.  "  Have  no  fear. " 

Ever  ready  as  he  was  to  fight  or  to  make  love,  Cupid 
and  Mars  being  his  twin  divinities,  he  was  nothing 
loath  to  indulge  in  a  mild  flirtation  with  the  attractive 
landlady. 

"  I  scarcely  know  how  to  propose  it  to  monsieur, " 
continued  Rose,  emboldened  by  the  chevalier's  gracious 


GABRIELLfc.  31 

manner,  "  but  the  fact  is  this.  All  his  servants  having 
been  massacred  and  his  money  stolen,  monsieur  may 
have  need  of  temporary  accommodation.  If  my  poor 
inn  will  serve  him,  all  that  I  have  is  at  his  disposal." 

"  But  I  haven't  a  maravedi." 

"  That  is  well  understood.  Monsieur  can  pay  at  his 
convenience." 

Raoul  hesitated.  He  felt  a  little  spasm  of  shame  to 
impose  thus  upon  the  good  woman.  And  yet  what  was 
he  to  do?  At  that  moment,  a  fugitive  breeze  brought 
to  his  nostrils  a  delicious  whiff  from  the  kitchen  of  the 
Rising  Sun,  and  he  realized  that  he  was  hungry,  un- 
deniably hungry.  This  decided  him.  After  all,  as 
Rose  said,  it  was  but  a  temporary  accommodation,  and 
his  fortune  once  made  he  would  repay  her  an  hundred- 
fold. 

The  spirits  of  the  Gascon  were  rising,  and  once  more 
he  believed  in  his  star. 

So  he  thanked  the  little  woman,  accepted  her  prof- 
f ered  hospitality  with  an  appropriate  mixture  of  effusive- 
ness and  dignity,  and  followed  her  to  a  little  table  be- 
neath an  awning  to  the  right  of  the  entrance  to  the  inn. 

The  place  was  screened  from  the  observation  of  the 
passers-by  by  an  arrangement  of  palms  and  climbing 
vines  trained  over  a  trellis-work ;  but  to  any  one  seated 
beneath  the  awning,  all  that  went  on  in  the  Place 
Royale  was  plainly  visible  through  the  leaves. 

Here  Raoul  threw  himself  down,  and,  while  Rose 
bustled  away  to  make  preparations  for  the  entertain- 
ment of  her  guest,  lazily  gave  himself  up  to  enjoying 
the  anticipation  of  the  good  things  to  come. 

When  one  is  twenty-five,  in  perfect  health,  with  a 
good  sword  at  one's  side,  what  matters  an  empty  purse? 
It  is  folly  to  indulge  in  gloomy  forebodings. 


3*  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

Vogue  la  galere!     Let  the  morrow  take  care  of  itself! 

Now  it  so  happened  that  Rose's  was  not  the  only 
pair  of  bright  eyes  that  had  rested  with  approval  upon 
the  young  Gascon's  handsome  face  and  graceful,  manly 
figure. 

Just  prior  to  his  appearance  from  the  caravan,  two 
women  had  entered  the  square  from  a  narrow  street, 
diagonally  opposite  to  the  Rising  Sun. 

The  one  was  an  elderly  duenna  of  somewhat  grim 
aspect,  and  clothed  from  head  to  foot  in  austere  black. 
By  her  side  moved,  with  the  step  of  a  young  fawn,  a 
girl  in  the  first  morning  of  her  youth,  an  Aurora  of 
grace  and  beauty.  No  tint  of  the  shell  in  which  Aphro- 
dite arose  from  the  foam  of  the  sea  could  rival  the  deli- 
cate bloom  on  those  rounded  cheeks.  The  mutinous 
little  mouth  was  as  sweet  as  crimson  roses,  and  like 
twin  sapphires  set  in  ebony  the  large  deep-blue  eyes 
glanced  brightly  amidst  the  dark  lashes.  Beneath  an 
azure  toque,  ornamented  by  a  single  feather  held  in 
place  by  a  clasp  of  pearls,  strayed  soft  curls  as  silken 
and  golden  as  the  tassels  of  ripened  corn. 

A  gown  of  blue  velvet  looped  over  a  satin  petticoat  of  a 
lighter  shade  displayed  to  advantage  the  slender,  wil- 
lowy figure. 

The  duenna  held  in  her  hands  a  rosary  and  a  book  of 
hours,  and  her  eyes  were  cast  down  as  if  fearful  of  cor- 
ruption at  the  sight  of  worldly  things.  But  those  of  the 
young  girl  glanced  hither  and  thither  with  as  much 
interest  and  vivacity  as  those  of  a  novice  escaped  from 
the  convent. 

"See,  Dame  Brigitte,  see!"  she  murmured  to  her 
companion.  "What  gayety!  What  animation!  Oh! 
it  is  charming!" 

"All  the  more  reason  to  make  haste,  mademoiselle," 


GABRIELLE.  33 

returned  the  duenna  grimly.     "  Besides,  the  first  sum- 
mons to  mass  has  sounded,  and " 

"Let  us  wait  for  the  second,"  interrupted  mademoi- 
selle, with  a  mischievous  smile. 

But  there  was  no  answering  smile  on  the  face  of 
Dame  Brigitte.  On  the  contrary,  she  answered  severely : 

"  Mademoiselle,  this  is  no  place  for  you." 

"  Oh !  my  place  for  once  in  a  way  can  well  be  where 
there  is  some  amusement.  Too  often  it  is  where  there 
is  nothing  but  ennui.  Oh !  look,  Dame  Brigitte,  look, 
what  is  going  on  yonder!  Oh!  the  poor  fellow!  Let 
us  hear  what  he  is  going  to  say!" 

"Mademoiselle!     Mademoiselle!" 

But  it  was  evident  that  though  the  worthy  duenna 
might  command,  it  was  beyond  her  power  to  enforce 
those  commands,  and  willy  nilly  she  was  obliged  to  stay 
and  listen  to  the  speech  of  the  unfortunate  Gascon. 

When  this  was  over,  it  was  too  late  for  mass,  and  to 
Dame  Brigitte's  horror,  the  wilful  young  lady  insisted 
upon  remaining  to  witness  the  merriment  in  the  Place 
Royale. 

Wandering  hither  and  thither  about  the  square,  it 
chanced  that  they  paused  just  in  front  of  the  arbor  be- 
hind which  the  Gascon  was  concealed;  and,  peering 
through  the  leaves,  the  eyes  of  Raoul  de  Puycadere 
rested  for  the  first  time  upon  the  fair  face  that  was  to 
play  so  large  a  part  in  the  drama  of  his  life  and  be 
hereafter  the  morning-star  of  his  destiny. 

"Oh!  Mademoiselle  Gabrielle!  Mademoiselle  Ga« 
brielle !"  groaned  the  poor  duenna. 

"Gabrielle!"  thought  Raoul.  "Gabrielle!  The 
name  of  a  divinity!" 

"What  would  the  duchess  say?"   pursued  Dame  Bri- 
gitte, shaking  her  head  with  direful  forebodings. 
J 


34  A  GENTLEMAN    FROM   GASCONY. 

"Oh!  a  fig  for  the  duchess!"  retorted  Mademoiselle 
Gabrielle  gayly.  And  then,  with  sudden  compunction, 
"  No,  I  did  not  mean  that!  The  good  duchess!" 

"Oh!  mademoiselle,  you  will  be  the  death  of  me!" 

But  Gabrielle  made  no  reply.  Her  attention  was  ab- 
sorbed by  the  approach  of  a  seller  of  little  plaster  images, 
who  was  surrounded  by  a  laughing  swarm  of  students. 

"Images!  Images!"  the  vender  was  crying.  ^  Here 
you  have  them !  A  figure  of  the  Wandering  Jew  con- 
demned to  march  and  never  stop  until  the  world  comes 
to  an  end.  A  sou  for  the  Jew !  A  sou!  A  sou!" 

"  Give  me  one!"  cried  one  of  the  students. 

"And  me!" 

"And  me!" 

"A  Jew  for  me!" 

"Oh!  I  want  one!"  whispered  Gabrielle  to  her  old 
attendant.  Dame  Brigitte  raised  her  hands  in  terrified 
dismay.  As  soon  as  she  could  recover  her  breath,  she 
protested  vehemently,  but  in  too  low  a  tone  for  Raoul 
to  hear : 

"  Don't  think  of  such  a  thing,  mademoiselle.  What! 
you,  a  De  Vrissac,  a  maid  of  honor  to  Queen  Margue- 
rite!" 

Gabrielle's  low,  silvery  laughter  made  music  in  the 
young  chevalier's  ears. 

"Thank  you  for  reminding  me  of  that,  dear  Dame 
Brigitte,"  she  said.  "I  will  buy  another  one  for  the 
queen. " 

And  before  the  astounded  old  woman  could  prevent 
her,  she  stepped  forward,  and,  unloosing  the  fastenings 
of  a  dainty  little  purse,  she  cried  to  the  peddler: 

"Give  me  two!" 

At  the  sound  of  her  voice,  the  students  turned,  and  in 
an  instant  the  whole  scene  was  changed. 


GABRIELLE.  3J 

In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  Gabrielle  was  surrounded. 
"A  dance!     A  dance!" 
"I  first,  mademoiselle!" 
"No,  I!     I!" 

Gabrielle  turned  pale.  This  was  more  than  she  had 
bargained  for,  and  she  realized  now  the  consequences 
of  her  folly. 

Dame  Brigitte,  purple  with  anger  and  with  dishev- 
elled coiffe,  attempted  to  push  her  way  to  her  charge's 
side,  screaming: 

"  Dance!     She!     A  maid  of  honor!" 

Amidst  jeering  laughter  the  old  dame  was  hustled 
incontinently  aside. 

But  deliverance  was  close  at  hand. 

Whipping  his  sword  from  its  scabbard,  Raoul  thrust 
aside  the  vines  and,  leaping  out,  confronted  the  youth- 
ful persecutors. 

At  sight  of  this  dauntless  Perseus  with  his  stern  eyes 
and  gleaming  rapier,  the  students — who,  after  all,  were 
anything  but  dragons  and  had  been  impelled  simply  by 
a  spirit  of  mischief — turned  precipitately  and  took  to 
their  heels,  their  black  gowns  bulging  out  like  the 
wings  of  a  covey  of  pheasants  alarmed  at  the  approach 
of  the  hunter. 

Gabrielle,  white  and  trembling,  clung  close  to  the 
duenna. 

Raoul  sheathed  his  sword,  doffed  his  hat,  concealing 
as  well  as  he  could  the  sorrowful  condition  of  its  feath- 
ers, and,  approaching  the  young  girl,  addressed  her  in 
his  most  courtly  manner : 

"  Mademoiselle,  permit  a  poor  chevalier  to  hope  that 
you  have  sustained  no  injury  at  the  hands  of  those 
young  ruffians. " 

Gabrielle  withdrew  herself  from  the  embrace  of  the 


$6  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

duenna.  The  color  returned  in  an  even  more  vivid 
flush  than  usual  to  her  cheeks,  -but  the  splendor  of  her 
eyes  was  veiled  by  drooping  lids,  as  she  replied  mod- 
estly : 

"  Chevalier,  accept  my  thanks.  Without  your  timely 
aid,  I  shudder  to  think  what  might  have  happened." 

"And  she!"  put  in  Dame  Brigitte,  still  puffing  from 
her  unwonted  exertions,  "  she,  a  maid  of  honor  to  the 
Queen  of  Navarre !" 

Raoul  started.     A  maid  of  honor ! 

They  were  standing  a  little  in  front  of  a  balcony  that 
jutted  out  from  the  second  story  of  the  tavern,  but  none 
of  them  perceived  a  dark-visaged  man  who  at  this  mo- 
ment stepped  out  upon  the  platform  from  one  of  the 
windows-.  It  was  the  Vicomte  de  Vrissac,  who,  heated 
with  the  wine  he  had  drunk,  had  left  his  companion  to 
flirt  with  a  pretty  serving-maid,  while  he  sought  a  breath 
of  fresh  air. 

As  he  caught  sight  of  the  group  below  him,  he 
uttered  an  exclamation  of  mingled  surprise  and  anger. 

"  You  are  a  soldier,  chevalier?"  ventured  Gabrielle, 
timidly,  each  word  being  distinctly  audible  to  the  lis- 
tener above. 

"  I  was  for  five  years  in  Flanders,  mademoiselle, 
where  I  fought  under  the  orders  of  the  Prince  of  Lor- 
raine." 

With  a  gesture  of  rage,  De  Vrissac  turned  and  dis- 
appeared through  the  window. 

By  this  time,  Raoul,  who  had  been  a  little  timorous 
at  first,  had  recovered  something  of  his  native  assurance. 

"I  heard  your  duenna  say,  mademoiselle,  that  you 
were  attached  to  the  person  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre," 
he  said,  feasting  his  eyes  upon  the  loveliness  of  the  girl 
before  him,  and  becoming  each  moment  more  and  more 


GABRIELLE.  37 

fascinated.  "Would  you  permit  me  to  offer  you  my 
respects  at  the  Louvre?" 

This  was  audacious  in  more  senses  than  one,  and  so  it 
seemed  to  strike  the  young  lady,  for  an  amused  smile 
played  about  her  lips.  But  she  contented  herself  with 
a  low  courtesy  and  a  softly  murmured : 

"  Monsieur  le  Chevalier!" 

"  This  is  quite  enough.  Let  us  go,"  whispered  Dame 
Brigitte,  laying  her  hand  upon  the  arm  of  her 
charge. 

"  I  shall  then  have  the  honor  of  asking  you  to  dance 
with  me  a  pavane,"  said  Raoul,  boldly.  "I " 

But  he  was  interrupted  by  a  harsh  voice  at  his  elbow, 
demanding  peremptorily :  • 

"  Pardon  me,  but  by  what  right,  I  pray,  do  you  pre- 
sume to  address  this  lady?" 

Raoul  turned  quickly  and  found  himself  face  to  face 
with  a  man  who  was  frowning  upon  him  in  only  too 
evident  anger. 

For  a  moment  the  two  men  eyed  each  other,  and  by 
one  of  those  flashes  of  inspiration  which  come  to  us  all 
at  times,  each  recognized  the  other  as  an  enemy  and  a 
stumbling-block  in  his  path. 

Then  Raoul  said  calmly,  as  if  not  understanding  the 
question: 

"  I  beg  your  pardon?" 

Before  De  Vrissac  could  speak,  Gabrielle  interposed. 

"Hector,"  she  said  quickly,  "this  stranger  saved  us 
just  now  from  much  annoyance  at  the  hands  of  a  band 
of  scholars." 

De  Vrissac  frowned  more  darkly  than  ever. 

"The  service  rendered,  let  him  go  on  his  way,"  he 
declared,  offensively. 

Raoul's  eyes  flashed  and  'he  blood  flushed  crimson 


38  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

beneath  his  dark  skin.  But  he  managed  to  control  his 
rising  anger. 

"  And  who  are  you  to  dare  to  speak  to  me  thus?"  he 
demanded  with  quiet  dignity. 

"The  cousin  and  guardian  of  this  lady!  a  man  who 
cannot  endure  the  Gascons.  You  have  said  just  now 
that  you  fought  five  years  under  Monseigneur  de  Lor- 
raine. I  was  a  lieutenant  of  the  prince,  and  I  never 
encountered  you. " 

"Apparently  because  you  kept  prudently  in  a  safe 
place  upon  the  heights,  while  I  fought  in  the  plain," 
was  Raoul's  sarcastic  retort. 

At  this  'De  Vrissac  was  beside  himself  with  rage. 
He  clapped  his  hand  to  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  and  ex- 
claimed hoarsely : 

"  Those  words  shall  cost  you  dear !  Are  you  a  gentle- 
man?" 

"You  might  as  well  demand  of  Henri  de  Bourbon, 
King  of  Navarre,  if  he  were  of  good  blood." 

"On  guard,  then!" 

Simultaneously,  two  swords  flashed  in  air. 

But  before  the  steel  could  cross,  Gabrielle  sprang  be- 
tween, her  head  erect,  her  eyes  gleaming  dark  with 
excitement. 

In  clear,  bell-like  tones  rang  out  the  command : 

"  Hold !     Both  of  you !     Hold !" 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    WHITE    BADGE. 

*  HOLD  !     Both  of  you !     Hold !" 

As  if  at  the  order  of  a  young  queen  to  her  subjects, 
the  would-be  combatants  lowered  the  points  of  their 
weapons. 

"For  shame,  gentlemen,  for  shame!"  continued  the 
dauntless  girl,  the  excitement  kindling  her  cheeks  and 
rendering  her  more  beautiful  than  ever.  "  What,  would 
you  fight  in  my  presence?  And  in  this  public  place? 
And  for  what?  A  nothing?  Hector,  your  thanks  are 
due  this  gentleman  for  his  services  to  me,  your  kins- 
woman, rather  than  your  ill-timed  taunts.  Gentlemen, 
sheathe  your  swords!" 

Instantly  Raoul's  blade  rattled  in  its  scabbard.  The 
vicomte,  with  an  ugly  scowl  upon  his  dark  face,  made 
no  movement,  but  an  imperious  "Hector!"  from  Made- 
moiselle de  Vrissac  brought  him  partially  to  his  senses, 
and  he  sulkily  followed  the  chevalier's  example. 

"We  shall  meet  again,  monsieur!"  he  growled,  with 
a  darting  look  at  Raoul,  full  of  malevolence. 

"Ever  at  your  service,  monsieur,"  was  the  young 
Gascon's  quiet  reply. 

Although  she  had  won  the  victory  thus  far,  Mademoi- 
selle de  Vrissac  had  no  intention  of  leaving  the  two 
men  together.  She  knew  too  well  her  cousin's  un- 
governable temper,  and  she  realized  that  her  departure 
would  be  but  the  signal  for  the  outbreak  of  fresh  hostili- 


40  A    GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

ties.  So  she  laid  her  hand  gently  upon  De  Vrissac's 
arm,  and,  with  an  entire  change  of  manner,  in  a  tone  of 
cajolery  which  she  knew  well  how  to  assume  on  occa- 
sion, she  said  softly: 

"  Hector,  we  are  far  from  home,  and,  after  my  recent 
experience,  I  fear  to  go  alone  with  Dame  Brigitte.     May 
I  not  claim  your  protection  to  the  Hotel  de  Bassom 
pierre?" 

At  the  sweet  persuasive  accents,  the  Vicomte's  harsh 
face  softened  a  trifle,  and,  despite  himself,  he  was  forced 
to  yield.  Moreover  his  fair  cousin,  outside  of  and  next 
to  his  ambition,  was  perhaps  the  one  thing  De  Vrissac 
really  cared  for. 

The  two  moved  away,  followed  hobblingly  by  the  old 
duenna,  but  not  before  a  swift,  smiling  glance  from  a 
pair  of  azure  eyes  had  made  music  in  Raoul's  heart, 
telling  him  as  it  did  that  the  donor  held  him  blameless 
for  the  recent  altercation. 

When  the  graceful  figure  had  vanished  in  one  of  the 
side  streets,  the  chevalier  sighed  and  passed  his  hand 
over  his  forehead  as  if  awaking  from  a  dream.  As  he 
did  so,  he  noticed  something  white  lying  at  his  feet. 
Stooping  he  picked  it  up,  and  found  it  to  be  a  dainty 
handkerchief,  with  the  name  Gabrielle  embroidered  in 
one  corner.  He  made  a  movement  as  if  to  follow  the 
owner  of  the  pretty  trifle,  but,  upon  second  thought, 
paused,  pressed  his  lips  to  the  needlework,  and  thrust 
the  handkerchief  into  the  breast  of  his  doublet. 

A  maid  of  honor  to  the  Queen  of  Navarre,  whose 
name  was  Gabrielle!  It  was  but  little  to  go  upon,  and 
the  chances  were  exceedingly  slim  for  a  penniless  ad- 
venturer like  himself  to  encounter  her.  But,  although 
he  had  suffered  various  slight  scratches  from  the  arrows 
of  the  mischievous  love-god,  this  was  the  first  time,  as 


THE    WHITE    BADGE.  4! 

it  would  probably  prove  the  last,  that  Eros  had  inflicted 
a  serious  wound  upon  the  heart  of  Raoul  de  Puycadere. 
There  and  then  the  chevalier  registered  a  vow  that 
no  matter  what  obstacles  might  interpose,  he  would 
meet  again  the  lovely  maid  of  honor,  woo  her,  win  her 
if  he  could. 

.  The  Hotel  de  Bassompierre  was  a  magnificent  struc- 
ture, situated  on  the  quay,  nearly  opposite  the  Louvre 
and  rivalling  in  its  splendor  even  that  historic  palace 
itself.  It  formed  but  one  of  the  many  possessions  of 
the  Bassompierres,  one  of  the  oldest,  proudest,  and 
wealthiest  families  in  France. 

This  famous  family,  which  boasted  many  representa- 
tives, now  dead  and  gone,  who  had  distinguished  them- 
selves in  church,  council  and  upon  the  battle-field,  was 
now  limited  to  but  two  members, — the  young  Duke  de 
Bassompierre,  of  whom  we  have  caught  a  passing 
glimpse  at  Saint  Germain,  and  his  mother,  the  duchess. 

The  Duchess  de  Bassompierre,  a  woman  of  indomi- 
table pride  and  a  keen  sense  of  honor  which  even  Bay- 
ard, the  knight  sans  peur  et  sans  reproche,  might  have 
envied,  had  been  possessed  of  remarkable  beauty  in  her 
youth,  and  even  now  at  the  age  of  fifty,  with  her  stately 
figure,  her  snow-white  hair,  and  her  brilliant  dark  eyes, 
there  were  few  of  the  young  beauties  of  the  court  who 
could  dispute  the  palm  with  her. 

And  yet  the  duchess  was  far  from  a  happy  woman. 
Bound  up,  heart  and  soul,  in  her  only  son,  living  solely 
for  him  and  in  him,  her  heart  was  rent  in  twain  by  the 
young  man's  ever-increasing  tendency  toward  folly  and 
dissipation.  Handsome  though  he  was,  witty,  affection- 
ate, and  even  honorable  in  a  way,  he  was  weak,  undeni- 
ably, deplorably  weak ;  and  the  sparkle  of  the  wine-cup 


4»  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM   GASCONY. 

or  the  soft  eyes  of  some  fair,  frail  damsel  would  scatter 
to  the  winds  all  his  mother's  injunctions  and  prayers. 

The  Bassompierres  possessed  but  one  near  relative, 
Mademoiselle  Gabrielle  de  Vrissac,  daughter  of  the 
only  sister  of  the  duchess.  Both  the  young  lady's  par- 
ents had  died  when  she  was  in  her  early  teens,  and 
Gabrielle,  who  was  possessed  of  a  fair  fortune,  was  left 
to  the  joint  guardianship  of  her  aunt  and  a  cousin  by 
her  father's  side,  the  Vicomte  Hector.  She  was  edu- 
cated at  the  family  chateau  near  La  Rochelle,  and  now 
that  her  education  was  finished  her  aunt  had  recently 
brought  her  to  Paris,  and  obtained  for  her  the  position 
of  maid  of  honor  to  the  Princess  Marguerite,  now  Queen 
of  Navarre. 

There  was  a  time  when  the  good  duchess  had  hoped 
that  his  cousin's  extreme  beauty  and  charm  might  win 
the  young  duke  from  his  wayward  courses,  but  this  hope 
had  long  since  vanished.  The  affection  between  the 
youthful  couple  was  of  too  brotherly  and  sisterly  a 
nature,  the  good-comradeship  between  them  too  frank 
and  genuine,  to  leave  any  loophole  for  a  deeper  senti- 
ment to  creep  in. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  of  Gabrielle's  adventure  at 
Saint  Germain,  Madame  de  Bassompierre  was  seated  in 
her  favorite  apartment  of  the  hotel,  a  room  half  bou- 
doir, half  oratory,  for  the  duchess,  as  both  the  Bassom- 
pierres and  her  own  family  had  ever  been,  was  a 
devoted,  almost  bigoted  Catholic.  The  furniture  was 
rich  and  heavily  carved,  of  the  time  of  Francis  I. ;  the 
walls  were  hung  with  superb  tapestry,  emblazoned  with 
armorial  bearings.  Above  the  enormous  fireplace  hung 
a  full-length  portrait  of  a  warrior,  with  a  long  white 
beard  falling  over  his  cuirass — the  late  duke.  On  one 
side  of  the  room  was  an  alcove,  containing  a  large  and 


THE    WHITE    BADGE.  43 

massive  bed,  heavily  draped  with  curtains  of  dark  vel- 
vet, and  just  opposite  was  a  broad  window  opening  out 
upon  a  balcony  and  through  which  could  be  seen  the 
shining  river  and  a  distant  view  of  the  towers  of  Notre 
Dame. 

Near  the  alcove  stood  a  prie-dieu  in  front  of  a  small 
altar  surmounted  by  a  large  ivory  crucifix,  which 
gleamed  with  a  weird  whiteness  in  the  somewhat  dimly 
lighted  room. 

The  duchess — a  worthy  occupant  of  the  noble  apart- 
ment, in  her  trailing  robes  of  deep  purple  velvet  with  a 
Marie  Stuart  cap  upon  the  snowy  masses  of  her  hair — 
sat  in  a  large  armchair  near  the  fireplace  where  a  log  or 
two  blazed  fitfully  upon  the  hearth,  for  the  night  was 
a  trifle  chilly. 

Near  her  stood  an  elderly  man,  spare  almost  to  atten- 
uation, and  with  features  which  were  striking  in  their 
intellectuality.  And  indeed  Ambrose  Pare,  the  favorite 
physician  of  the  king  and  the  queen  mother,  was  a  man 
of  no  ordinary  attainments,  both  of  head  and  heart. 
The  duchess  had  known  him  from  her  girlhood  up,  and, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  was  a  Huguenot  of  the  strict- 
est dye,  she  trusted  him  almost  as  much  as  she  did  her 
father  confessor  himself. 

"Pardon  me,  gracious  madame,"  the  physician  was 
saying,  "  if  I  venture  the  opinion  that  you  pass  too  harsh 
a  judgment  upon  your  son. "  He  paused  and  then  added 
with  emphasis :  "  Your  only  son. "  The  duchess  sighed, 
and  a  tear  gathered  slowly  in  the  corner  of  her  eye: 

"Alas,  my  only  son!" 

"The  duke  is  young,"  persisted  Ambrose  Pare,  seek- 
ing for  excuses  to  comfort  her,  "  and " 

"Oh,  Master  Ambrose,"  interrupted  the  duchess, 
with  an  impatient  gesture,  "the  duke  his  father,"  and 


44  A  GENTLEMAN   FROM  GASCONY. 

she  pointed  to  the  picture  above  the  mantel,  "  the  duke 
his  father  had  not  numbered  his  years  ere  he  had  drawn 
a  sword,  not  in  a  wild  brawl  and  drunken  frolic,  but 
with  honor,  under  his  monarch's  eye,  in  many  a  stricken 
field." 

"  The  fault  is  on  the  times.  Youth,  like  the  chame- 
leon, ever  takes  the  prevailing  hue." 

"His  excesses!" 

"  For  those  the  license  of  the  court  gives  but  too  much 
excuse. " 

"His  duels!" 

"  At  his  age  the  blood  is  hot." 

"  He  is  too  turbulent,  too  ungoverned,  too " 

But  the  poor  woman  could  proceed  no  further.  Her 
emotion  choked  her,  and,  with  a  sob,  she  buried  her 
face  in  her  handkerchief. 

Ambrose  Pare  gazed  down  upon  her  with  genuine 
concern  depicted  upon  his  countennce.  He  knew  per- 
haps better  than  she  to  what  an  extent  the  young  duke 
had  gone  in  his  excesses,  and  yet  he  loved  the  boy  whose 
tutor  he  had  been.  He  waited  until  the  duchess  had 
somewhat  regained  her  composure,  and  then  sought  to 
console  her  with  words,  which,  to  do  him  justice,  he 
really  believed  himself. 

"  Madame !  Madame !  I  pray  your  grace  to  look 
upon  these  follies,  for  they  are  no  more,  with  hopeful 
eyes.  I  am  old,  and  in  my  time  have  seen  many  a 
noble  manhood  obliterate  the  remembrance  of  a  wild 
and  foolish  youth.  In  the  duke's  case,  believe  me,  the 
head  alone  is  at  fault  and  not  the  heart,  for  in  the  char- 
acter of  tutor  I  have  probed  the  latter  often." 

The  duchess  dried  her  eyes  and  raised  her  head,  meet- 
ing the  old  man's  gaze  as  if  she  would  read  his  inmost 
heart 


THE   WHITE    BADGE.  45 

"You  are  a  great  physician,  Master  Pare,"  she  said, 
earnestly,  "the  greatest  France  has  known,  and  your 
skill  has  ere  this  saved  the  life  of  kings.  I  do  entreat 
you  then,  out  of  the  love  you  bore  my  honored  husband, 
to  spare  no  pains  to  recall  to  a  higher,  better,  and  nobler 
life  my  son. "  She  rose  and  stretched  forth  her  hands 
in  appeal  to  the  physician.  "  Do  that,  good  Ambrose, 
and  I  will  esteem  no  reward  too  much,  even  were  it 
half  the  estates  of  Bassompierre. " 

Master  Pare  took  the  jewelled  hands  and  pressed  them 
consolingly  in  his. 

"Madame,"  he  replied  gently,  "I  am  a  physician  of 
the  body  and  not  of  the  mind,  yet  in  this  case  I  have 
studied  both  and  I  will  essay  the  cure.  My  reward  will 
be  my  success. " 

And,  raising  one  of  the  duchess*  hands,  with  the 
utmost  respect,  he  touched  it  with  his  lips. 

"Madame  la  Duchesse!  Madame  la  Duchesse!" 
called  a  fresh  and  musical  voice  from  the  balcony. 

"  It  is  Gabrielle,"  said  the  duchess,  quickly  withdraw- 
ing her  hand,  "  At  another  time,  Master  Pare,  we  will 
speak  further  of  this. " 

Taking  these  words  as  a  dismissal,  as  indeed  they 
were  meant  to  be,  the  old  physician  bowed  low,  and 
took  his  departure,  as  Gabrielle,  pushing  aside  the 
curtains,  appeared  from  the  balcony. 

She  lightly  descended  the  few  steps  that  led  to  the 
window  and  crossed  the  room  to  the  duchess'  side. 
Dressed  in  a  simple  robe  of  white,  in  her  youth  and  gay 
abandon  she  formed  a  striking  contrast  to  the  sombre- 
robed  duchess ;  the  one  with  her  life  all  before  her,  the 
other,  her  existence  past,  save  for  what  joy  and  sorrow 
the  future  might  have  in  store  for  her  in  the  life  of  her 
son. 


4g  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

"  Aunt,  there  is  a  great  commotion  on  the  banks  of 
the  river,"  began  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac  in  some  ex- 
citement. "  Can  it  be  some  new  riot  that " 

The  duchess  pressed  her  hand  to  her  heart.  A  riot! 
And  Paul  abroad!  Ah!  why  must  she  ever  forebode 
evil  'when  she  thinks  of  her  son? 

Alarmed  at  her  aunt's  pallor,  Gabrielle  feared  that 
she  was  ill,  and  asked  if  she  should  not  call  back  Master 
Pare. 

"No,"  commanded  Madame  de  Bassompierre,  laying 
a  detaining  hand  upon  the  girl's  shoulder  and  with  an 
effort  recovering  her  composure.  "  It  is  but  a  momen- 
tary faintness.  It  will  pass." 

Then,  seating  herself  in  the  armchair  she  had  but 
recently  quitted,  she  continued  in  a  brighter  tone: 

"  Sit  down  here,  on  that  footstool  at  my  feet,  Gabri- 
elle, and  proceed  with  your  story  of  that  adventure 
which  Master  Pare  interrupted. " 

"It  was  already  finished,"  said  Gabrielle,  obeying, 
and  resting  her  golden  head  against  her  aunt's  knee. 

"  What  did  you  say  was  the  name  of  your  preserver. " 

"The  Chevalier  de  Puycadere." 

"  Puycadere !  I  think  I  remember  that  my  husband 
had  a  companion  at  arms  of  that  name,  a  brave  soldier 
I  believe,  and  a  Gascon." 

"  It  must  have  been  the  chevalier's  father.  He  said 
that  he  was  a  Gascon,  and — and  a  Huguenot. " 

The  last  word  was  spoken  a  little  hesitatingly,  for 
Gabrielle  was  well  aware  of  the  duchess'  hostility  to 
the  reformed  religion. 

Sure  enough,  the  face  of  the  elder  lady  darkened 
ominously. 

"A  Huguenot!"  she  ejaculated.  "Will  those  mis- 
guided creatures  never  see  the  error  of  their  ways,  and, 


THE    WHITE    BADGE.  47 

by  embracing  the  true  faith,  save  this  unhappy  land 
from  the  miseries  and  bloodshed  into  which  it  has  been 
plunged?" 

"  Is  it  wholly  their  fault?"  rejoined  Mademoiselle  de 
Vrissac,  a  little  timidly.  "  Surely,  the  other  side  has 
been  to  blame  also  in  its  excesses.  But,  at  all  events, 
the  marriage  of  my  dear  princess  is  an  augury  of  hap- 
pier times." 

Now  the  marriage  of  a  Catholic  princess  of  the  house 
of  Valois  with  the  Protestant  Prince  of  Be*arn,  as  she 
persisted  in  calling  the  King  of  Navarre,  had  been  far 
from  pleasing  to  the  duchess,  and  Gabrielle's  remarks 
seemed  to  her  little  short  of  heresy.  But  before  she 
could  reprove  the  daring  girl,  the  door  was  flung  quickly 
open  and  her  son  dashed  gayly  into  the  room. 

His  face  was  flushed  and  his  eyes  bright  with  wine. 
Both  the  duchess  and  Gabrielle  rose  to  their  feet. 

Although  Madame  de  Basssompierre's  first  anxious 
glance  told  her  the  truth,  that  her  son  had  been  indulg- 
ing too  freely,  she  said  nothing  but  suffered  the  kiss  he 
imprinted  upon  her  cheek. 

Then  she  sank  back  again  in  her  chair,  thinking  bit- 
terly :  "  The  proverb  is  true  which  says  when  your 
children  are  young  they  trample  upon  your  feet,  but 
when  they  grow  up  they  trample  upon  your  heart!" 

The  duke  noticed  nothing,  but  laughing  a  little  bois- 
terously, he  turned  to  Gabrielle  and  pinched  her  mis- 
chievously upon  the  cheek. 

"  So,  my  pretty  cousin,"  he  cried,  "you  would  stay  to 
see  the  fun  at  Saint  Germain,  would  you?  and  got  your- 
self rarely  frightened  for  your  pains.  Oh !  you  need 
not  deny  it.  Hector  has  told  me  the  whole  story." 

Gabrielle's  face  flushed  angrily. 

"And  I  call  it  very  unkind  of  Hector,  very  uncalled 


48  A  GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCONY. 

for,"  she  retorted,  indignantly.  "He  was  not  present 
to  protect  me  from  insult." 

"  Oh,  there  will  be  plenty  of  time  for  him  to  protect 
you,"  laughed  the  duke,  delighted  at  an  opportunity  to 
tease  the  young  girl.  "  When  he  is  your  husband !" 

"  That  he  will  never  be!" 

"  He  swears  he  will!" 

"  And  / swear  he  shall  not!"  And  in  her  exaspera- 
tion, Gabrielle  clenched  her  hands  until  the  nails  in- 
dented the  pink  palms. 

The  duchess  made  a  movement  to  interrupt,  but, 
upon  second  thought  refrained.  Her  gaze  was  fixed 
anxiously  upon  her  son.  The  effects  of  the  wine  the 
young  man  had  imbibed  at  the  Rising  Sun  and  else- 
where, doubtless  augmented  by  the  heat  of  the  room, 
were  becoming  more  and  more  apparent.  His  eyes 
burned  with  a  increased  hectic  light,  and  he  staggered 
a  little  as  he  leaned  back  against  a  table. 

"Time  will  tell,"  he  answered,  with  a  laugh  which 
ended  in  the  suspicion  of  a  hiccough.  "  You  did  not 
need  Hector  this  time  at  all  events.  You  had  another 
protector,  and  a  worthy  one,  forsooth!  A  ragged 
vagabond " 

"  He  is  no  vagabond!"  protested  Gabrielle,  hotly. 

"And  a  Huguenot,"  proceeded  the  duke,  without 
noticing  the  interruption.  "A  Huguenot!"  he  re- 
peated, and  the  word  seemed  to  inflame  still  further 
his  already  overheated  brain.  "  May  the  devil,  saving 
your  presence,  fly  away  with  them  all!  Enemies  to 
church  and  State,  they  should  be  ob— obliterated,  root 
and  branch!  Root  and  branch!  Ay,  and  so  they  will 
be,  before  four  and  twenty  hours  have  passed  over  our 
head.  Oh!  Hector  knows!  Ask  him!  And  I  know, 
I  know  too!" 


THE    WHITE    BADGE.  49 

And  he  glanced  round,  as  if  challenging  any  one  to 
deny  the  statement.  He  evidently  was  in  that  talka- 
tive mood  when  a  drunken  man  scarcely  knows  what  he 
is  saying  and  cares  still  less. 

"  You  will  see, "  he  went  on  recklessly.  "  To-morrow, 
stroke  of  the  tocsin — Oh6 !  Paris  will  be  gay  at  the 
death-dance  of  the  heretics." 

Scarce  understanding,  Gabrielle  had  retreated  to  a 
corner  of  the  fireplace,  and  was  listening  in  bewilder- 
ment to  her  cousin's  wild  words. 

More  astute,  and  presaging  she  knew  not  what  dis- 
aster, the  duchess,  pale  to  the  lips,  rose  from  her  chair, 
and  advancing,  laid  her  hand  upon  her  son's  arm. 

"Paul!  Paul!  What  are  you  saying?"  she  implored 
in  low  tense  tones,  "  are  you  mad?  Oh !  I  beseech  you, 
if  there  are  to  be  further  scenes  of  horror,  stay  within 
doors.  Remain  with  me!" 

He  threw  his  arm  about  her  with  maudlin  tenderness. 

"Have  no  fear,  mother  mine!"  he  declared,  with 
difficulty.  "  We  are  all  good  Catholics  here.  All — all 
loyal  to  the  king!  Why  shouldn't  you  know?  Why, 
shou — shou —  See!"  recovering  himself  with  manifest 
effort,  and,  with  his  disengaged  hand  drawing  from  his 
pocket  a  little  bundle,  which  he  shook  out  and  held  up, 
revealing  a  double  cross  formed  of  white  linen. 

"  See !  With — with  this  in  my  hat,  and — and  a  white 
s-s-scarf  on — on  my  arm,  I  am  safe!  As  are  all — all 
who  wear  them.  Remember — remem — if — if " 

He  could  articulate  no  more,  and  his  head  fell  for- 
ward. With  an  action  full  of  infinite  sorrow,  full  of 
divine  tenderness,  his  mother  drew  the  drooping  head 
down  upon  her  breast.  Then  she  turned  an  agonized 
look  upon  Gabrielle.  Her  lips  moved,  but  they  uttered 
no  sound. 
4 


50  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM   GASCONY. 

The  young  girl  understood.  The  mother  would  be 
alone  with  her  son. 

Quietly,  Gabrielle  made  her  way  to  her  own  apart- 
ment, there  to  lie  awake  half  the  night,  dreading  she 
knew  not  what,  but  with  a  clear  conviction  in  her  mind 
that  a  double  white  cross  in  the  hat  and  a  white  scarf 
upon  the  arm  would  be,  in  some  mysterious  way,  a  safe- 
guard against  impending  evil. 


CHAPTER  V. 

BORROWED   PLUMES. 

RAOUL  DE  PUYCADERE  moved  uneasily,  stretched  his 
arms,  yawned,  and  then  opened  his  eyes,  still  heavy  with 
sleep. 

He  found  himself  lying  upon  a  bed  in  a  plain  but 
comfortably  furnished  room. 

The  curtains  were  drawn  closely  in  front  of  the  win- 
dows, shutting  out  every  ray  of  light. 

For  a  moment  he  could  not  recollect  where  he  was, 
and  then  like  a  flash  it  all  came  back  to  him — the  leav- 
ing home,  the  attack  on  the  highway,  the  gypsies,  the 
little  landlady,  and — ah !  Gabrielle !  He  leaped  to  his 
feet  and  made  sure  that  the  precious  handkerchief  was 
safe.  Henceforth,  to  work  now,  hands  and  brain !  He 
had  an  object  in  view,  an  object  far  dearer  and  worthier 
than  the  mere  conquering  of  place  and  fortune. 

How  long  had  he  slept?  He  had  not  the  slightest 
idea.  Upon  re-entering  the  inn  after  the  departure  of 
Gabrielle  and  her  companions,  Madame  Goujon  had 
served  him  with  what  to  a  man  in  his  famished  condi- 
tion seemed  a  sumptuous  repast,  and  then  the  good 
little  woman  had  insisted  upon  his  taking  some  repose, 
which  in  truth  he  was  nothing  loath  to  do  after  the 
rough  treatment  he  had  received  from  the  highway 
robbers  and  the  exciting  events  of  the  day. 

But  now  he  was  refreshed,  the  bruise  on  his  forehead 
had  ceased  throbbing,  and  he  was  quite  himself  again. 

He  hastily  drew  on  his  boots,  which  he  had  kicked 


52  A   GENTLEMAN   FROM    GASCONY. 

off  beside  the  bed,  plunged  his  face  in  a  basin  of  cold 
water,  and  made  his  soiled  and  tattered  clothes  as 
decent  as  possible,  which,  with  all  his  efforts,  however, 
was  not  much  to  boast  of. 

Then  going  to  the  window  he  drew  aside  the  curtain 
and  flung  open  the  casement,  murmuring  laughingly, 
as  he  did  so : 

"  Enter,  my  friend  the  sun,  and  take  a  seat!" 

And  in  truth  it  seemed  as  if  his  sunship  did  not  dis- 
dain the  invitation,  for  from  its  position  low  down  on 
the  horizon  it  flooded  the  modest  room  with  a  wealth 
.  of  mellow  rays. 

The  place  below  was  very  quiet  now,  most  of  the  rev- 
ellers having  departed  or  retired  temporarily  to  their 
various  abodes  for  supper,  and  Raoul,  leaning  his  head 
upon  his  hands,  drew  in  long  draughts  of  the  cool  even- 
ing air. 

Just  below  him  was  the  little  arbor,  through  the  vines 
of  which  he  had  first  beheld  the  entrancing  vision  of — 
Gabrielle.  Gabrielle  who?  Ay,  that  he  must  set  him- 
self to  discover  without  delay.  How  lovely  she  was ! 
How  sparkling!  How  pure!  And  this  jewel  of  great 
price  he  had  sworn  to  make  his  own !  And  that  oath 
he  would  keep,  though  fifty  ill-tempered  cousins  and 
guardians  thrust  their  ugly  jowls  between ! 

His  roseate  reflections  were  interrupted  by  a  gentle 
tap  upon  the  door,  which,  meeting  at  first  with  no  re- 
sponse, was  repeated  more  vigorously. 

With  his  castles  in  Spain  thus  rudely  shattered,  the 
chevalier  turned  impatiently  and  cried  out: 

"Enter!     Mordiou!     Enter  then!" 

But  all  his  resentment  vanished,  as  the  door  opened, 
disclosing  the  blushing,  smiling  face  of  his  kind-hearted 
landlady. 


BORROWED    PLUMES.  53 

"Pardon  the  intrusion,  Monsieur  le  Chevalier,"  she 
began,  "but  I  thought  perhaps  monsieur  might  have 
awakened  and  might  need  some  refreshment. " 

"  Indeed  you  are  too  good,  madame,"  returned  Raoul, 
politely,  "or  is  it  mademoiselle?" 

"Oh,  madame,"  answered  Rose,  with  a  little  mow 
which  said  as  plainly  as  words  could  have  done :  worse 
luck! 

"  I  envy  your  husband. " 

"Oh,  monsieur!     Is  monsieur  refreshed?" 

"Entirely  recovered,  my  good  madanie." 

"  Then,  if  monsieur  will  follow  me. " 

Obediently  Raoul  followed  his  pretty  conductress  as 
she  tripped  along  the  hall  and  into  the  principal  room 
of  the  cabaret,  which  served  at  once  for  dining-room, 
cafe\  and  pawnshop.  There  were  only  two  or  three 
guests  in  the  spacious  apartment,  and  Rose  led  the  way 
to  a  table  neatly  spread  with  a  white  cloth,  in  an  embra- 
sure of  a  window  looking  out  on  the  Place  Royale. 

She  served  him  with  her  own  hands,  and,  as  she  did 
so,  chatted  away  gayly  and  unreservedly,  telling  him 
of  her  neighbors,  her  business,  and  her  husband  absent 
on  service  of  the  king. 

"And  your  good  husband,  Monsieur  Goujon,"  began 
Raoul. 

"Sergeant,"  corrected  Rose,  "sergeant  in  the  king's 
musketeers. " 

"  I  beg  his  pardon,  Sergeant  Goujon.  Do  you  expect 
him  to  return  soon?" 

"  No,  no,  not  for  some  time.  The  saints  be  praised !" 
she  added  under  her  breath. 

The  chevalier  laughed. 

"  I  should  be  delighted  to  see  him,"  he  said,  "  and  to 
tell  him  all  that  I  owe  you. " 


54  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

Rose  made  no  reply  to  this,  but  her  face  showed  that 
the  opportunity  the  chevalier  desired  would  not  be  one 
of  unmixed  pleasure  to  her. 

"There,  monsieur,"  she  said,  to  change  the  subject, 
and  waving  her  hand  toward  the  table  upon  which  was 
spread  the  best  that  the  house  afforded.  "  There,  mon- 
sieur, I  hope  that  will  please  you,  though  of  course  it 
is  not  what  you  have  been  accustomed  to. " 

"  My  dearmadame,"  returned  Raoul,  enthusiastically, 
"I  assure  you  this  is  the  best  meal  I  have  had  for 
months!" 

Rose  stared,  dumb  with  surprise.  What!  Her 
modest  providing  the  best  meal  that  this  phenomenally 
rich  seigneur  had  had  for  months ! 

Raoul  in  a  moment  saw  his  mistake,  but  before  he 
could  invent  some  explanation  of  his  thoughtless  words, 
Rose  broke  forth  in  a  gay  peal  of  laughter.  "  Monsieur 
is  a  true  Gascon!"  she  said,  between  her  bursts  of 
merriment.  "  He  cannot  refrain  from  compliments,  no 
matter  how  absurd  they  may  be. " 

De  Puycadere  breathed  freely.     He  was  saved. 

"No  compliment  to  madame  could  be  absurd,"  he 
replied  gallantly. 

"Oh,  monsieur,  you  make  me  blush." 

"  And  the  blush  becomes  you." 

The  little  landlady  could  not  conceal  her  pleasure  at 
the  words  and  the  look  of  admiration  accompanying 
them.  The  handsome  young  Gascon  had  made  a  de- 
cided impression  upon  her  susceptible,  and,  it  must  be 
confessed,  somewhat  fickle  nature. 

"Ah!"  she  said  with  a  sigh,  half  admiration,  half 
envy,  "how  fortunate  monsieur  is!  How  happy  one 
must  be,  not  even  to  be  able  to  count  his  fortune!" 

"Yes,  yes.     I  enjoy  that  happiness,"  said  Raoul, 


BORROWED   PLUMES.  55 

drily  and  with  perfect  truth ;  for,  not  possessing  a  soli- 
tary sou,  how  could  he  be  able  to  count  it? 

During  the  preceding  conversation,  a  girl  had  entered 
the  room,  and,  seeing  Madame  Goujon,  had  timidly 
approached. 

"Madame  Goujon." 

At  the  sound  of  her  name,  Rose  turned. 

"  Ah !  is  it  you,  Mirza?"  she  said,  pleasantly  enough. 

"  Is  Sergeant  Goujon  at  home?"  asked  the  Tzigana,  in 
evident  embarrassment. 

"  The  sergeant  is  away  on  duty. " 

"I — I  wanted,"  faltered  Mirza,  glancing  shyly  at 
Raoul,  who  was  attacking  with  a  vim  the  good  things 
before  him,  "but  I  am  afraid  I  intrude." 

De  Puycadere  looked  up  with  a  smile. 

"  A  young  lady  so  charming  as  yourself,  Mademoi- 
selle Mirza,  can  never  intrude  where  I  am,"  he  said. 

These  words  were  by  no  means  to  Madame  Goujon's 
liking.  She  was  too  avaricious  of  the  chevalier's  pretty 
speeches  to  share  them  with  any  one  else. 

"  Well,  speak,  what  do  you  want?"  she  asked  a  little 
tartly,  at  the  same  time  placing  herself  adroitly  be- 
tween Raoul  and  the  gypsy. 

"I  do  not  dare  to  say,"  murmured  Mirza,  lowering 
her  eyes.  "  I  am  afraid  of  a  refusal. " 

Raoul  tilted  back  his  chair,  thus  spoiling  Rose's  little 
ruse. 

"Reassure  yourself,  mignonne,"  he  said,  encourag- 
ingly, "  our  good  Madame  Goujon  does  not  know  how 
to  refuse.  Come!  Madame  Goujon,  lend  this  little  girl 
your  sweet  holiday  smile  and  give  her  the  courage  she 
lacks." 

The  persuasive  accents  quite  melted  Rose's  temporary 
resentment.  "What  a  man!"  she  thought  to  herself. 


eg  A  GENTLEMAN  FROM  GASOONY. 

"  He  makes  one  do  whatever  he  wants !"  Then  turning 
to  the  shrinking  Tzigana,  she  asked  again,  but  in  a  muck 
milder  tone  than  she  had  employed  before : 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want?" 

"  Two  months — three  months  ago — when  we  were  here 
before,"  began  Mirza,  trembling  betwixt  hope  and  fear, 
"  I  left  with  you  my  pretty  blue  gown  and  my  lace  fichu. 
The  sergeant  lent  me  four  livres  on  them,  and " 

"Well?" 

"  Well,  there  is  a  ball  this  evening  in  the  theatre,  and 
— and  my  sweetheart — you  know,  Pharos,  to  whom  I 
am  to  be  married  the  day  of  the  New  Year — wants  to 
take  me  there,  and — and — you  understand?  I  could 
not  dance  in  my  everyday  dress." 

"And  then?"  demanded  Madame  Goujon. 

"Then?"  stammered  poor  Mirza,  coloring  in  confu- 
sion, "why — why " 

"Then,  my  dear  Madame  Goujon,"  interposed  Raoul, 
with  a  smile  which  showed  his  white  teeth,  "  here  is 
the  affair  in  two  words :  This  young  woman,  not  hav- 
ing the  money  necessary  to  release  the  famous  blue 
gown,  begs  you  to  lend  it  to  her  upon  her  word,  and 
promises  to  bring  it  back  to  you  to-morrow,  only  warn- 
ing you  in  advance  if  it  is  a  trifle  rumpled,  it  is  not 
exactly  she  you  must  blame,  but  the  arm  of  her  lover. " 

"Oh!  how  well  monsieur  speaks!"  exclaimed  Mirza, 
admiringly,  forgetting  for  the  moment  her  timidity. 

But  Rose  was  not  inclined  to  yield. 

"But  it  is  impossible!"  she  cried,  raising  her  hands 
at  the  audacity  of  the  proposal.  "Without  money, 
seigneur!  What  would  my  husband  say?" 

"  Oh !  it  seems  that  your  husband  is  avaricious, "  said 
Raoul,  determined  to  gain  the  point  for  the  Tzigana, 
who,  with  her  companions,  had  been  the  means  of  sue- 


BORROWED    PLUMES.  57 

coring  him  from  the  ruffians  who  had  attacked  him. 
"  But  fortunately  the  sin  of  avarice  is  unknown  to  you, 
my  dear  Madame  Goujon.  So  what  the  tight-fisted 
husband  would  refuse,  his  charming  little  wife  will 
grant  at  once.  Eh?  Yes?  Will  she  not?" 

The  appealing  smile  which  accompanied  these  words 
was  too  much  for  Rose's  scruples.  She  laughingly  as- 
sented, and  moved  away  toward  a  large  armoire  in  one 
corner  of  the  room,  where  were  stored  pledges  of  every 
description. 

The  Tzigana  caught  Raoul's  hand,  and  before  he 
could  prevent  her  raised  it  gratefully  to  her  lips.  Then 
she  hurried  after  Madame  Goujon  to  obtain  her  treas- 
ures, her  brown  face  beaming  with  the  anticipated  de- 
lights of  the  ball. 

His  appetite  appeased,  Raoul  poured  out  a  final  glass 
of  the  excellent  wine  his  kind  hostess  had  set  before 
him,  and  with  that  sense  of  well-being  which  a  good 
dinner  bestows  upon  every  one,  leaned  back  in  his 
chair,  and  gazed  absently  out  upon  the  square. 

It  was  already  dusk,  and  lights  were  beginning  to 
tremble  here  and  there  in  the  gloaming. 

Suddenly,  Raoul's  ears  were  saluted  by  the  tinkle  of 
mandolins,  and  then,  in  musical  male  voices,  rang  out 
the  words  of  the  song  he  knew  so  well : 

"Non  loin  du  pays  de  Gascogne, 
Mon  pere  avait  un  vieux  chateau, 
Fierement  se  doublant  dans  1'eati, 
Dans  1'eau  verte  de  la  Dordogne, 
Un  soir  d'et6  j'ai  pris  mon  vol, 
Et  j'ai  fui  la  sombre  tourelle ! 
Mon  aieul  6tait  rossignol, 
Ma  grandmere  6tait  hirondelle ! 

.Raoul  had  leaped  to  his  feet  and  was  leaning  out  over 


ijg  A   GENTLEMAN   FROM    GASCONY. 

the  balcony.  The  song  of  his  own  sunny  province,  the 
very  song  he  had  sung  himself  as  he  rode  away  from 
the  dismantled  chateau  of  his  ancestors!  These  singers 
must  be  his  countrymen.  He  started  to  hail  them,  and 
then  drew  back  at  the  sudden  thought  of  his  impov- 
erished condition.  He  had  not  a  marave'di  to  offer 
them  a  glass  of  wine. 

"They  sing  well,"  said  a  voice  at  his  elbow,  and 
turning  with  a  start  he  saw  Madame  Goujon,  who  had 
approached  noiselessly  during  the  music. 

"It  is  a  song  of  my  own  country,"  he  answered. 
"  They  are  Gascons !  Ah !  what  would  I  not  give  to 
press  their  honest  hands!" 

"  And  why  not?" 

The  chevalier  did  not  answer.  A  shadow  passed 
over  his  face,  which  quick-witted  Rose  was  not  slow  to 
seize  and  understand  the  meaning  of. 

"Bid  them  in,  Monsieur  le  Chevalier,"  she  said, 
hurriedly.  "  I  will  order  the  wine  for  their  entertain- 
ment. Oh!  let  monsieur  have  no  scruple,"  she  added, 
as  Raoul  hesitated.  "  Monsieur  will  repay  me.  I  am 
not  so  avaricious  as  my  husband!" 

Although  his  conscience  pricked  him  considerably 
for  the  deception  he  was  practising,  after  a  moment's 
thought  the  chevalier  decided  to  follow  Madame  Gou- 
jon's  suggestion,  and  signalled  the  singers  to  come  up. 
After  all,  in  the  prosperous  days  Dame  Fortune  assuredly 
had  in  store  for  him,  the  little  woman  would  not  suffer 
for  her  present  kindness. 

In  a  very  few  minutes  the  band  of  singers  entered 
the  room,  and  instantly  Raoul  was  among  them,  press- 
ing their  hands  with  all  a  Gascon's  enthusiasm. 

"Enter!  enter!  my  good  friends,  my  dear  comrades! 
I  am  Raoul  de  Puycadere,  Puycadere  the  Gascon,  your 


BORROWED   PLUMES.  59 

compatriot !     Let  me  look  at  you !     Let  me  hear  your 
voices  again  in  the  echoes  of  that  dear  southern  land 
whose  memory  will  never  be  effaced  from  my  heart!" 
Once  more  the  sweet  melody  stirred  the  air : 

"  Mon  aieul  etait  rossignol, 
Ma  grandmere  6tait  hirondelle !" 

During  the  song,  Madame  Rose  had  caused  a  plenti- 
ful supply  of  wine  to  be  brought,  and  at  the  conclusion 
she  filled  the  glasses  of  the  chevalier  and  his  country- 
men. 

"Now,"  cried  Raoul  gayly,  raising  his  glass  high  in 
air,  "  we  are  going  to  drink  to  the  fatherland!" 

"To  the  fatherland!" 

"Salute!  lofty  mountains!  deep  ravines!  old  castle 
that  was  the  cradle  of  my  infancy !  Salute  also  to  the 
dear  sun !  the  clearest,  the  brightest,  the  most  radiant 
of  all  suns!  Gascony!  I  salute  thee  and  I  drink  to 
thee!" 

"To  thee,  Gascony!"  cried  the  minstrels  in  unison, 
and  the  toast  was  drunk  amid  the  wildest  enthusiasm. 

As  soon  as  the  clamor  had  subsided,  Raoul  fell  into 
conversation  with  the  young  men  and  discovered  that 
the*y  were  mostly  students  who  had  travelled  on  foot  to 
Paris,  earning  their  board  and  lodging  by  their  music, 
and,  after  witnessing  the  royal  marriage,  which  took 
place  on  a  platform  erected  in  front  of  Notre  Dame, 
were  now  returning  home.  The  name  of  Puycadere 
was  too  celebrated  throughout  Gascony  not  to  be  famil- 
iar to  many  of  them,  but  fortunately  they  made  no 
allusion  to  the  impoverished  condition  of  the  present 
representative  of  the  family. 

"To-morrow  is  to  be  a  gala  day  at  the  Louvre,"  re- 
marked one  of  the  minstrels,  "all  the  provinces  send 


to  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

ambassadors  to  congratulate  the  king   and  queen    ot 
Navarre  upon  their  union." 

"And  Gascony  of  course  among  them,"  observed  the 
chevalier,  idly. 

"Alas,  no!" 

"What,  no!  Gascony  not  represented !  How  comes 
that?" 

"  Monsieur  Altemarre  was  selected  to  offer  our  con- 
gratulations,  but  scarcely  had  he  arrived  in  Paris  when 
he  was  stricken  with  a  fever,  and  lies  now  at  death's 
door." 

"And  there  is  no  one  to  take  his  place?" 

"No  one." 

Amid  the  chorus  of  regrets  at  the  untoward  circum- 
stance, Raoul  was  silent.  An  idea  had  entered  his 
head,  an  idea  so  daring  that  his  pulses  almost  stopped 
throbbing  at  the  very  contemplation  of  it. 

The  revelry,  mingled  with  the  sweet  Gascon  songs, 
continued  for  some  time  longer,  but  finally  the  minstrels 
were  forced  to  take  leave  of  their  host  and  continue 
their  journey.  "  Take  my  embraces  to  our  dear  country, " 
said  Raoul,  as  he  bade  farewell  to  them,  "  and  tell  her 
that  I  shall  see  her  soon  again  perhaps,  and  that,  at  all 
events,  I  will  try  not  to  end  like  the  Gascon  of  the 
ballad,  with  a  rapier  through  my  breast.  Adieu,  com- 
rades, adieu !  and  may  the  God  of  our  fathers  have  ye 
in  his  keeping!" 

After  the  departure  of  the  minstrels,  the  chevalier 
fell  into  a  deep  train  of  thought,  from  which  he  was 
aroused  by  Madame  Rose,  saying  in  a  tone  of  sympathy : 

"Your  compatriots  have  deprived  you  of  your  spirits, 
chevalier  You  are  regretting  the  South. " 

"  No,  madame,  it  is  not  that.  But  it  makes  me  sick 
at  heart  to  think  that  on  the  morrow  one  of  Navarre's 


BORROWED    PLUMES.  6l 

own  provinces  should  have  no  congratulations  to  offer 
its  king. " 

"  Pouf !  that  is  easily  remedied." 

Raoul  started,  an  eager  question  in  his  eyes. 

"  Monsieur  will  pardon  the  liberty. " 

"Yes!  yes!     Go  on!" 

"  Then,  why  need  the  illness  of  the  poor  gentleman 
matter?  Who  so  fit  to  act  as  ambassador  for  Gascony 
as  the  most  noble  Chevalier  de  Puycadere  himself." 

His  own  thought!  But  how  impossible  of  accom- 
plishment ! 

"Who  so  fit,  indeed?"  he  answered,  designating  his 
attire  with  a  sarcastic  gesture.  "  In  this  array  the  most 
noble  Chevalier  de  Puycadere  would  make  a  worthy 
appearance  at  the  Louvre." 

Rose  twisted  a  corner  of  her  apron  nervously  between 
her  fingers.  She  had  a  proposition  to  make,  but  what 
would  this  enormously  rich  gentleman  think  of  it? 

"  If  monsieur  wishes, "  she  began  timidly,  "  that  ques- 
tion is  easily  disposed  of.  In  the  armoire  yonder  I 
have  garments  which  would  just  fit  monsieur.  And  it 
would  rejoice  me  to  lend  them  to  him  for  so  worthy  an 
object." 

Raoul  was  not  long  in  deciding.     Nothing  venture, 
nothing  win,  must  be  his  motto  at  this  stage  of  the  game 
So  he  accepted  Madame  Rose's  offer  with  words  so 
warm  in  their  appreciation  of  her  kindness  that  the 
little  landlady's  cheeks  were  dyed  crimson  with  pleasure. 

Half  an  hour  afterward  the  chevalier  surveyed  him- 
self with  proud  gratification  in  the  mirror  which  hung 
above  the  mantel  in  his  room.  And  indeed  a  most  at- 
tractive picture  he  made  in  a  gray  doublet  embroidered 
with  silver,  boots  of  black  leather,  and  a  handsome  violet 
velvet  cloak  thrown  gracefully  over  one  shoulder. 


6«  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM   GASCONY. 

The  die  was  cast !  With  eyes  flashing  with  excite- 
ment and  heart  beating  high  with  hope,  he  cried  exul- 
tantly: 

"Gabrielle,  the  promise  shall  be  kept!  To-morrow 
I  enter  the  Louvre  I" 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A   DANGEROUS   GAME. 

THERE  was  a  brilliant  fete  in  progress  at  the  Louvre, 
the  culmination  of  all  the  festivities  in  honor  of  the 
royal  marriage. 

On  this  eve  of  the  Feast  of  St.  Bartholomew,  the  count- 
less windows  of  the  historic  palace  were  brilliantly 
illuminated.  The  neighboring  streets,  usually  so  quiet 
after  the  bell  of  the  church  of  Saint  Germain  1'Auxer- 
rois  had  sounded  the  hour  of  nine,  were  now  filled  with 
a  jostling,  tumultuous  crowd,  through  which  the  coach- 
men and  link-boys  found  difficulty  in  forcing  their  way. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  residents  of  Paris  and  the  thousands 
of  Huguenot  visitors  with  which  the  fair  city  was 
thronged  from  end  to  end  were  bent  this  evening  on 
making  the  Louvre  their  objective  point. 

There  was  much  scope  for  wondering  reflection  in 
the  sight  of  the  leaders  of  the  two  parties,  who  had  so 
lately  been  at  one  another's  throats,  now  entering  the 
palace  side  by  side  in  apparent  amity.  The  rabble  on 
both  sides  were  not  so  ready  to  bury  the  hatchet,  as  the 
sharp  words  that  passed  here  and  there  in  the  crowd 
abundantly  testified.  There  was  little  recourse  to  any- 
thing more  than  words,  however,  as  the  Huguenots  were 
too  genuinely  rejoiced  at  what  looked  like  the  dawning 
of  a  new  era  and  the  end  of  persecution  to  care  to  precipi- 
tate fresh  dissensions,  and  the  Catholics,  although  the 
majority  of  them  were  secretly  dissatisfied  and  won- 


<J^  A  GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCONY. 

dered  how  their  chief  the  Duke  of  Guise  could  so 
easily  forgive  Admiral  Coligny,  whom  he  had  always 
accused  of  instigating  the  assassination  of  his  father, 
Duke  Francois,  were  bound  to  follow  as  much  as  possible 
the  example  of  their  superiors. 

Perhaps  there  would  have  been  less  wonderment  and  a 
far  less  degree  of  dissatisfaction  amidst  the  rank  and  file 
of  the  Catholic  party,  could  it  have  had  knowledge  of  a 
scene  which  took  place  that  very  afternoon  in  one  of  the 
apartments  of  the  Louvre,  a  scene  participated  in  by 
King  Charles  himself,  Catherine  de  Medicis  the  queen 
mother,  who  possessed  ten  times  the  courage  of  her  weak 
and  vacillating  son,  and  the  Duke  of  Guise. 

The  king,  white  with  terror, — apprehension,  sus- 
pense, and  doubt  making  him  tremble  in  every  limb, — - 
was  pacing  nervously  to  and  fro. 

And  indeed  there  was  good  reason  for  his  discomfort 
in  the  astounding  and  terrible  proposition  that  had  just 
been  made  to  him — nothing  less  indeed  than  a  whole- 
sale massacre  of  the  Huguenots. 

The  plot  had  already  been  planned  in  all  its  details 
by  the  Duke  de  Guise  and  the  queen-mother,  and  all  the 
arrangements  carried  out  by  the  duke.  Three  o'clock 
in  the  morning  of  the  feast  of  St.  Bartholomew,  when 
most  people  would  be  sleeping  in  their  beds,  was  the 
time  fixed  for  the  beginning  of  the  slaughter. 

It  was  arranged  that  the  signal  should  be  a  pistol- 
shot,  to  be  answered  by  a  note  from  the  deep-throated 
bell  of  Saint  Germain  1'Auxerrois. 

Then,  from  hiding-places  already  fixed  upon,  the 
soldiers  were  to  spring  forth  and  do  their  deadly  and 
cowardly  work. 

Such  people  who  were  not  Huguenots  were  to  be 
secretly  warned  to  wear  marks  of  distinction  consisting 


A   DANGEROUS   GAMfc.  65 

of  a  white  linen  band  on  their  arms  and  a  white  cross 
on  their  caps. 

But  one  thing  now  remained,  and  that  was  to  unfold 
the  plan  to  the  king,  who  had  hitherto  been  kept  in  ig- 
norance of  it,  and  to  prevail  upon  him  to  sign  the  order 
for  the  scene  of  butchery. 

This  proved  to  be  not  so  easy  a  task  as  had  been 
hoped  for,  although  both  the  duke  and  the  queen-mother 
were  confident  of  ultimate  victory. 

Shocked  as  the  king  was  at  the  first  intimation  of 
what  was  proposed,  his  weak  brain  was  gradually  being 
impressed  by  the  specious  arguments  set  before  him. 

He  tottered  rather  than  walked  about  the  room,  now 
upholding  the  prepared  massacre,  now  condemning  it — 
swearing  by  all  that  was  holy  that  the  Huguenots  had 
never  been  his  enemies,  but  always  his  best  friends. 

Catherine  de  Medicis,  through  it  all,  remained  as 
determined  and  imperturbable  as  the  wife  of  the  Scotch 
thane  when  tempting  her  hesitating  husband  to  the 
murder  of  Duncan. 

"  It  is  too  late  to  turn  back, "  she  said,  with  cold  de- 
liberation. "  The  rotten  limb  must  be  torn  from  the 
tree.  If  yon  hesitate  now,  the  chance  of  ridding  France 
of  its  enemies,  of  which  Admiral  Coligny  is  the  chief, 
will  be  forever  lost. " 

"  Believe  me,  sire,  this  trumped-up  peace  will  never 
last,"  added  the  Duke  of  Guise.  " The  two  parties  can 
never  be  reconciled.  One  or  the  other  must  go  to  the 
wall.  War  is  inevitable.  Better  to  win  a  battle  in 
Paris,  where  we  hold  the  Huguenot  leaders  in  our 
power,  than  put  it  to  hazard  in  the  field. " 

Charles  sank  into  a  chair,  groaning  and  burying  hi* 
perspiring  face  in  his  hands.  The  two  conspirators  re- 
doubled their  arguments  After  a  struggle  of  more 
5 


66  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

than  an  hour,  the  king,  wrought  to  a  still  more  violent 
state  of  agitation,  yet  hesitated,  when  the  queen-mother, 
fearing  lest,  if  there  were  further  delay,  all  would  be 
discovered,  exclaimed  in  a  burst  of  fury,  partially  real, 
partially,  for  a  purpose,  assumed : 

"Since  you  forsake  your  duty,  permit  me,  sire,  to 
retire  to  some  other  part  of  the  kingdom!" 

Goaded  to  desperation,  and  thoroughly  alarmed  at 
this  threat,  for  he  was  as  dependent  as  a  child  upon  his 
mother,  Charles  leaped  from  his  chair  and  clutched  at 
the  order  which  lay  upon  a  table  near  at  hand. 

"By  God's  death!"  he  shrieked  hoarsely, "since  you 
think  proper  to  kill  the  admiral,  I  consent !  But  all  the 
Huguenots  in  Paris  as  well,  in  order  that  there  remain 
not  one  to  reproach  me  afterward!"  And  with  a  fever- 
ish hand  he  signed  the  fatal  document.  "Give  your 
orders  at  once!" 

Uttering  an  exultant  cry,  young  Guise  seized  the  paper 
and,  with  scant  ceremony,  dashed  out  of  the  room. 

No  sooner  had  he  disappeared  than  the  king  began  to 
rave  and  tear  his  hai-  like  a  madman.  But  it  was  too 
late  now.  The  fate  ol  Admiral  Coligny  and  of  thou- 
sands of  others  with  him  was  already  sealed. 

Save  to  the  chosen  few,  all  this  was  as  yet  unknown 
in  Paris,  and  no  one  was  mare  ignorant  of  the  approach- 
ing nights  and  days  of  terroi  than  Raoul  de  Puycadere, 
as  on  his  audacious  mission  he  with  difficulty  threaded 
his  way  amidst  the  multitude  in  front  of  the  Louvre. 

At  last  he  managed  to  reach  the  entrance,  where  he 
was  challenged  by  a  guard  who  wore  the  uniform  of  the 
king's  musketeers. 

"I  am  the  ambassador  from  Gascony,"  said  Raoul 
boldly. 

The  guard  gave  him  a  look  of  scrutiny,  and  then,  im* 


A    DANGEROUS   GAME.  67 

pressed  by  the  richness  of  his  dress  and  the  confidence 
of  his  bearing,  allowed  him  to  pass. 

With  pulses  beating  far  more  quickly  than  usual 
Raoul  followed  three  young  men,  in  sumptuous  attire, 
up  the  broad  marble  staircase  and  along  a  brilliantly 
lighted  corridor,  until  he  came  to  a  wide  doorway 
screened  by  curtains  of  violet  velvet  embroidered  with 
silver  fleurs-de-lis. 

Through  this  doorway  the  three  young  men,  who 
were  a  few  paces  in  front  of  him,  disappeared. 

Raoul  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then,  drawing  a  quick 
breath  and  uprearing  his  head  haughtily,  he  thrust 
aside  the  curtain. 

What  a  scene  met  his  eyes! 

The  magnificent  apartment,  with  its  elaborate  decora- 
tions of  white  and  gold,  was  illuminated  with  thousands 
of  candles  in  enormous  chandeliers  of  Venetian  glass 
suspended  from  the  ceiling  and  in  sconces  ranged  at  in- 
tervals along  the  wall.  Over  the  floor  inlaid  in  intri- 
cate patterns  of  rare  and  costly  woods,  moved  an  ever- 
changing  kaleidoscope  of  exquisite  colors,  the  sheen  of 
silk  and  satin  and  the  gleam  of  jewels. 

For  an  instant  Raoul  was  dazed,  and  then  he  was 
roused  by  the  voice  of  a  page,  demanding  his  name  and 
titles.  Instantly  he  recovered  his  self-possession  and 
answered  in  a  firm  voice : 

"The  Chevalier  Raoul  de  Puycadere,  ambassador 
from  Gascony." 

As  the  page  repeated  these  words,  the  three  young 
men,  who  had  preceded  the  young  Gascon,  started, 
faced  about,  and  turned  their  eyes  wonderingly  upon 
his  soi-disant  Excellency. 

Then  they  hurriedly  exchanged  a  few  words.  Raoul 
caught  two  sentences. 


68  A  GENTLEMAN    FROM   GASCONY. 

"It  is  not  he!" 

"  Ma  foi,  no!  He  is  at  the  point  of  death." 
Here  was  danger  in  the  very  beginning.  These 
young  men  evidently  knew  the  real  ambassador,  and 
were  the  deception  discovered  before  he  could  present 
himself  to  the  King  of  Navarre,  the  audacious  chevalier 
stood  an  excellent  chance  of  being  summarily  ejected 
from  the  presence  chamber. 

The  young  men  were  apparently  about  to  address 
him,  but  before  he  could  formulate  a  plan  of  procedure 
a  fortunate  interruption  took  place. 

A  slender,  graceful  figure  stepped  hastily  toward  him, 
and  Raoul  looked  once  more  upon  that  radiant  face 
which  had  haunted  his  vision,  sleeping  and  waking,  for 
the  past  twenty-four  hours. 

Her  robe  of  white  satin  revealed  the  charming  con- 
tours of  her  snowy  neck  and  rounded  arms,  and  the 
masses  of  her  golden  hair  were  piled  high  above  her 
forehead  and  adorned  with  a  chaplet  of  pearls.     Raoul 
caught  his  breath  aad,  forgetting  all  else,  eagerly  drank 
in  her  exquisite  beauty  until  the  violet  orbs  fell  beneath 
the  passionate  ardor  of  his  gaze.     Then,  remembering 
himself,  he  murmured: 
"  I  have  kept  my  promise." 
She  smiled  a  little  and  answered  gently: 
"  I  was  not  mistaken.     It  is  really  you." 
"Really  I." 

"  But  how  did  you  manage  to  obtain  an  entrance?" 
These  words  recalled  to  Raoul  the  danger  of  his  posi- 
tion, and  forced  him  to  realize  that  this  was  no  moment 
for  soft  dalliance.  After  a  quick  glance  at  the  group  of 
three,  who  were  apparently  waiting  an  opportunity  to  ad- 
dress him,  he  moved  a  step  nearer  to  the  one  he  knew  as 
yet  only  as  Gabrielle,  and  said  hurriedly,  in  a  low  voice: 


A   DANGEROUS   GAME.  6f 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  am  in  peril  here.  But  you  can  aid 
to  save  me." 

"  I !"  she  faltered,  overcome  with  astonishment. 

"Yes.  I  beseech  you,  ask  no  explanation.  Deign 
only  to  be  my  pilot  on  this  sea  which  I  navigate  for  the 
first  time." 

"  I— I  don't  understand." 

"  Don't  try  to  understand,  for  the  present.  Do  you 
see  those  three  men  standing  near  the  doorway?  That 
gentleman  on  the  left,  the  one  with  the  long  nose — who 
is  he?" 

"M.  de  Chateauneuf." 

"  And  his  chief  quality?" 

Despite  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac's  amazement  and 
curiosity,  she  could  not  refrain  from  a  little  laugh. 

"Why,  he — he  is  always  in  love." 

"  I  understand.  I  know  his  type  by  heart.  And  that 
one  with  the  fierce  mustache?" 

"M.  de  Montgiron." 

"A  soldier?" 

"  Yes,  talking  always  of  the  battle  of  Mons." 

"  Because  he  was  never  there.  Exactly.  And  that 
other  with  the  melancholy  eyes?" 

"  M.  de  Brantome,  a  writer." 

"Thanks,  mademoiselle.  Forgive  me,  you  shall 
understand  all,  <z//,  before  the  evening  is  over." 

And  with  a  low  bow  and  a  last  look,  which 
brought  the  blushes  to  her  cheeks,  he  turned  and 
moved  away  in  the  direction  of  the  group  they  had 
been  discussing,  leaving  the  young  lady  completely 
mystified  and,  it  must  be  confessed,  a  trifle  piqued 
as  well. 

As  he  approached  the  young  men,  one  of  them  ad- 
vanced a  little  and  addressed  him  first: 


yo  A  GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCONV. 

"Pardon,  monsieur,  but  we  take  a  keen  interest  in 
you. " 

"Indeed,"  returned  Raoul,  with  an  affectation  of 
indifference. 

"  Yes.  The  fact  is,  the  ambassador  from  Gascony  is 
well  known  to  us,  and  you  are  not  he. " 

"Mordiou!"  and  Raoul  laughed  as  though  intensely 
amused.  "  I  am  not  surprised  at  your — shall  I  say  sus- 
picion— but  Monsieur  Altemarre  is  an  old  friend  of 
my  family,  and,  hearing  that  I  was  in  Paris,  sent  for  me 
and  begged  me  to  take  his  place,  in  order  that  his  un- 
fortunate illness  should  not  prevent  Gascony  offering 
her  congratulations  to  her  king. " 

The  expression  of  the  young  man  changed.  Seem- 
ingly he  was  a  little  in  doubt  still,  however,  and 
Raoul  hastened  to  remove  his  suspicions  entirely. 

"  I  trust  you  do  not  doubt  me,  Monsieur  de  Chateau- 
neuf,"  he  continued,  with  a  slight  emphasis  upon  the 
name. 

"  What,  I  have  the  honor  of  being  known  to  your  ex- 
cellency!" exclaimed  the  other,  in  surprise. 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  said  De  Puycadere,  lowering  his 
voice  a  little.  "  I  have  been  in  Paris  only  three  days, 
and  yet  twenty  pretty  mouths  have  recounted  to  me  the 
story  of  your  successes  in  the  lists  of  love. " 

De  Chateauneuf  lowered  his  eyes  in  mock  modesty 
and  ejaculated  a  low  "Oh!  monsieur!"  And  then  he 
added  with  a  low  bow  and  a  fatuous  smile : 

"Your  excellency  is  evidently  a  person  of  discern- 
ment." 

The  chevalier  thought  to  himself  with  satisfaction: 
"  One  supporter  gained !"  Then,  turning  to  another  of 
the  gentlemen,  he  addressed  him  with  somewhat  exag- 
gerated respect: 


A    DANGEROUS   GAME.  <Jl 

"  Monsieur  de  Montgiron,  a  kinsman  of  mine  had  the 
honor  of  fighting  at  your  side  in  the  battle  of  Mons." 

"Really!" 

"  A  battle  of  giants !  for,  although  victory  was  for  an 
instant  in  doubt,  genius  and  courage  held  till  the  last 
instant  the  sheaf  of  flags,  one  of  which,  they  tell  me, 
was  all  crimson  with  your  blood. " 

However  open  to  doubt  this  statement  may  have  been, 
the  bright  flush  of  pleasure  which  dyed  the  doughty 
warrior's  cheek  was  undeniable. 

"Your  excellency,"  he  stammered. 

"Two!"  thought  the  chevalier.  But  there  was  still 
one  more  to  be  placated. 

"Ah,  Monsieur  de  Brantome,  permit  the  Chevalier 
de  Puycadere  to  express  to  you  the  pleasure  he  feels  at 
this  meeting.  Your  works  are  well  known  in  Gascony, 
and  I  congratulate  you  on  the  stir  they  have  made 
there. " 

"You  overwhelm  me,  Monsieur  le  Chevalier,"  mur- 
mured the  author,  as  he  reflected,  "  Really,  these  Gas- 
cons are  charming." 

"Three!" 

But,  successful  as  he  had  been  thus  far,  Raoul  had 
only  passed  the  outposts.  The  real  danger  was  yet  to  be 
faced,  and  that  too  without  delay.  Already  bearing 
down  upon  him  was  an  old  man,  glittering  with  jewelled 
orders,  as  stiff  as  a  pikestaff  and  thin  almost  to  emaci- 
ation. 

Presaging  his  peril,  the  young  Gascon  whispered  to 
De  Brantome,  who  happened  to  be  standing  next  him : 

"Who  is  this  person?" 

"Count  d'Avreux,  grand  master  of  ceremonies." 

With  difficulty,  the  chevalier  repressed  a  startled 
"Mordiou!"  The  count  was  already  bending  his  long 


7  2  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM   GASCON V. 

body  before  him  with  elaborate  courtesy,  and  in  an- 
other moment  had  addressed  him  in  a  thin,  monotonous 
voice : 

"  Pardon,  a  thousand  timei  pardon,  your  excellency, 
but  for  many  years  has  been  incumbent  upon  me  the 
honorable  and  delicate  mission  of  exacting  at  the 
Louvre  the  fulfilment  of  the  immutable  laws  of  eti- 
quette." He  paused  a  moment  to  take  breath,  while 
Raoul  wondered  uneasily  what  this  long  preamble 
might  forebode.  "And  I  recognize  to  my  confusion 
that  a  very  grave  infringement  has  been  committed  in 
respect  to  you!" 

"An  infringement!"  muttered  the  self-styled  ambas- 
sador with  a  qualm  of  uneasiness. 

"Yes,  monsieur,  and  I  must  beg  your  excellency 
without  delay  to  furnish  me  with " 

"Well?" 

"Your  letters  of  credit." 

Audacity  must  be  the  cue  now,  and  again  audacity, 
and  still  again  audacity. 

"Oh,  very  well,  very  well,  monsieur,"  replied  Raonl, 
with  an  assumption  of  easy  carelessness.  "  We  Gascons 
do  not  insist  to  such  a  point  upon  all  little  details  of 
etiquette.  I  excuse  your  forgetfulness.  Let  us  speak 
no  more  of  it." 

The  dignified  master  of  ceremonies  started  as  if  he 
had  been  shot. 

"Speak  no  more  of  it!"  he  exclaimed,  in  boundless 
surprise  and  indignation.  " Speak  no  more  of  it!" 

"Certainly  not,  my  dear  count,"  was  the  cool  reply. 
"My  instructions  are  to  present  my  letter  and  offer 
Gascony's  congratulations  to  their  Majesties  in  person. 
Mordiou,  kindly  conduct  me  into  the  presence  without 
more  ado." 


A   DANGEROUS    GAME.  73 

For  an  instant  the  count  hesitated,  and  then  impressed 
by  the  young  man's  lordly  air,  he  concluded  it  wisest 
to  yield  and  answered  briefly : 

"  Follow  me !" 

Immediately  after  his  conductor,  who  proceeded  with 
slow  and  stately  step,  Raoul  threaded  the  mazes  of  the 
brilliantly  attired  throng,  until  he  found  himself  at  the 
foot  of  a  dais,  and  realized  that  he  was  before  the  royal 
couple,  and,  like  a  desperate  gambler,  prepared  him- 
self for  the  cast  of  the  die,  which  was  to  make  him  or 
mar  him  beyond  repair. 

At  this  time,  Henri  of  Navarre,  afterward  the  pride 
and  glory  of  all  France,  whose  very  name  was  destined 
to  be  a  watchword  through  succeeding  generations,  was 
barely  twenty — a  young  man  with  a  keen  eye,  black 
hair  cut  very  close,  thick  eyebrows,  a  nose  curved  like 
an  eagle's,  and  a  growing  mustache  and  beard. 

His  bride,  Marguerite  de  Valois,  or,  as  she  was  more 
familiarly  known,  Queen  Margot,  was  "  the  pearl  of  the 
crown  of  France,"  and,  indeed,  in  beauty  and  accom- 
plishments there  were  few  in  that  court  of  lovely  and 
brilliant  women  who  could  vie  with  her.  She  had 
raven  hair  and  a  brilliant  complexion,  red  lips,  a  grace- 
ful neck,  and  a  somewhat  full  but  still  exquisite 
figure. 

To  look  at  her  was  enough  to  silence  the  scandalous 
rumors,  rife  at  court,  that  the  young  husband  was  not  too 
desperately  in  love  with  his  beautiful  bride,  however 
much  credit  might  be  given  to  that  other  rumor  that 
the  consent  of  the  lovely  princess  had  been  given  only 
after  long  resistance  on  her  part.  Indeed  there  were 
those  who  stated,  and  with  authority,  that  at  the  nup- 
tial ceremony,  when  asked  if  she  consented,  Marguerite 
appeared  to  hesitate  for  a  moment;  but  her  brother  the 


J4  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONV. 

king  put  his  hand  a  little  roughly  on  her  head  and 
made  her  lower  it  in  token  of  assent. 

However  this  may  be,  upon  the  night  of  the  reception 
of  the  Louvre  the  two  appeared  to  be  on  the  most  ex- 
cellent terms  with  one  another.  Marguerite  was  gra- 
cious and  smiling,  and  her  kingly  husband  was  cordial- 
ity itself. 

Raoul  bowed  his  knee  before  his  sovereigns  with 
many  an  inward  tremor.  It  was  only  by  the  exercise 
of  a  powerful  will  that  he  kept  himself  from  turning 
tail  and  incontinently  running  away,  and  more  than 
once  he  longed  for  the  floor  to  open  and  swallow  him 
up. 

And  yet,  in  spite  of  all  his  trouble,  he  realized  dimly 
that  standing  at  the  side  of  the  queen  was  a  golden- 
haired  figure  in  robes  of  shimmering  white. 

As  to  one  speaking  a  long  distance  away,  he  listened 
to  the  high-pitched  voice  of  the  old  master  of  ceremo- 
nies, addressing  the  king: 

"  May  it  please  your  Majesty,  I  have  the  honor  to 
present  his  excellency  the  ambassador  from  Gascony. 
He  insists  on  giving  into  your  Majesty's  own  hand  his 
letters  of  credit,  and,  although  it  is  contrary  to  all  es- 
tablished rules  of  etiquette,  I  beg  grace  of  your  most 
high,  most  mighty,  most  merciful,  most  gracious " 

"And  most  weary,"  curtly  interrupted  Henri,  who 
had  a  hatred  of  long  speeches  and  pompous  orations. 

The  count  retired  in  confusion,  while  the  young 
queen  raised  a  fan  to  her  lips  to  conceal  the  smile  which 
she  could  not  wholly  repress. 

Suddenly  Raoul  became  aware  that  the  king  was 
speaking  to  him : 

"Your  credentials,  young  sir!" 

With  a  gulp  and  turning  ghastly  pale,  the  chevalier 


A   DANGEROUS   GAME.  75 

drew  from  beneath  his  doublet  a  paper  he  had  previously 
prepared  and  laid  it  in  the  king's  outstretched  hand. 
Henri  unfolded  it,  and  this  is  what  he  read : 

"  The  Chevalier  Raoul  de  Puycadere  humbly  craves 
pardon  for  the  stratagem  he  has  practised  to  gain  his 
Majesty's  ear,  and  begs  his  Majesty  to  bestow  upon  him 
such  position  where  himself  and  his  sword  may  prove 
their  devotion  to  their  king. " 

The  king  of  Navarre  could  scarce  believe  his  eyes. 
Twice  he  perused  the  extraordinary  document;  then 
his  brow  grew  black  as  night,  and,  smiting  the  paper 
fiercely  with  his  hand,  he  exclaimed  passionately: 

"Art  mad?  Ventre  Saint  Gris!  Dost  think  Harr* 
of  Navarre  can  be  tricked  with  impunity?" 


CHAPTER  VII. 

FROM   FAILURE — SUCCESS. 

ALL  was  over! 

Raoul  de  Puycadere  knew  that  he  had  staked  and 
lost.  More  than  this,  his  present  condition  was  worse, 
far  worse  than  his  former. 

He  trembled  from  hand  to  foot ;  his  recreant  tongue 
clove  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth  and  refused  to  utter  a 
syllable. 

Lucky  for  him  was  it  that  there  were  others  to  plead 
for  him. 

While  the  king  was  engaged  in  deciphering  the  sense 
of  the  audacious  paper,  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac  found 
opportunity  to  whisper  imploringly  in  the  queen's  ear: 
"  Madame,  it  is  he,  my  preserver,  masquerading  as  an 
ambassador  from  Gascony. " 

Now,  Gabrielle  de  Vrissac  was  decidedly  Marguerite's 
favorite  maid  of  honor,  and  the  queen's  kindness  had 
inspired  in  the  young  girl  a  confidence  which  she  gave 
to  no  one  else,  not  even  to  her  aunt ;  dearly  as  she  loved 
the  latter,  there  was  a  little  fear  mingled  with  her 
affection.  So  she  had  already  told  the  queen  the  whole 
story  of  her  adventure  at  Saint  Germain,  and  now,  at 
the  eager  pleading  words,  Marguerite,  always  interested 
in  a  love  affair  and  whose  divination  of  such  things 
was  as  keen  as  a  hound's  scent  for  game,  immediately 
fuetaed  that  her  favorite  was  more  than  ordinarily  in- 


FROM    FAILURE — SUCCESS.  Jf 

terested  in  the  handsome  stranger,  and  resolved  upon 
the  spot  to  become  his  champion. 

Before  her  angry  husband  could  utter  anything  fur- 
ther, she  laid  one  white  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"  Sire,  two  words  in  private. " 

The  king's  face  softened,  and  he  made  a  gesture  to 
the  courtiers  surrounding  them  to  retire,  a  command 
which  was  instantly  obeyed. 

Only  Raoul  remained  standing  with  his  eyes  glued  to 
the  floor,  anticipating  he  knew  not  what  dire  punish- 
ment to  fall  upon  him. 

"Well,  Margot?"  said  the  king. 

"May  I  not  see  this  gentleman's  credentials ?** 

Silently  the  king  handed  her  the  paper. 

As  she  read  it,  she  broke  out  into  a  merry  laugh,  and 
at  the  sound  Henri's  stern  features  relaxed  in  a  smile. 

"  Ah,  sire,  le  pauvre  diable !  Surely  his  offence  is  not 
beyond  pardon.  And  so  daring  a  man  would  be  equally 
so  in  your  service." 

"  But "  began  the  king. 

"  No  buts, "  interrupted  Marguerite,  with  a  bewitch- 
ing smile.  "  What,  after  our  compact,  will  you  refuse 
me  the  first  request  I  make  of  you?" 

At  the  words  "  our  compact, "  the  king's  mind  reverted 
to  a  scene  which  had  taken  place  between  them  two 
days  before,  in  which  Marguerite  had  thrown  herself 
upon  his  forbearance  and  frankly  avowed  that  on  her 
part  there  was  no  love  for  the  man  she  had  married  and 
that  she  looked  upon  their  union  simply  as  a  political 
alliance. 

Although  the  heart  of  Henri  himself  was  at  first  not 
too  deeply  affected,  he  could  not  but  feel  a  little  piqued 
at  this  avowal,  and  perhaps  it  was  the  beginning  of  the 
love  he  afterward  gave  his  wife.  Just  at  the  moment, 


yg  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM   GASCONY. 

however,  he  was  too  conscious  of  the  benefits  accruing 
to  himself  from  his  marriage  to  show  too  keenly  his 
displeasure.  So,  after  a  slight  hesitation,  he  had  an- 
swered : 

"  I  will  not  ask  you  to  love  me,  but,  if  you  will  be  my 
ally,  I  could  brave  anything;  but  with  you  as  my 
enemy,  I  am  lost." 

"Oh,  your  enemy?    Never,  sire!" 

"  But  my  ally?" 

"  Most  assuredly. " 

And  so,  between  husband  and  wife,  was  formed  a 
frank  and  loyal  alliance. 

As  Henri  remembered  this  he  felt  that  she  was  right; 
that  he  could  not  refuse  the  first  request  of  this  beau- 
tiful creature,  whom,  moreover,  he  was  beginning  to 
find  adorable.  But,  just  as  his  lips  framed  themselves 
to  give  consent,  a  quick  suspicion  flashed  across  his 
brain,  and  he  glanced  a  little  frowningly  at  the  bent 
head  of  the  chevalier  and  then  at  his  wife.  Was  this 
man,  for  whom  she  pleaded,  perchance  her  lover? 

But  no  sooner  was  the  suspicion  formed  than  Margue- 
rite, quick-witted  as  she  was,  guessed  what  was  passing 
in  his  mind,  and,  advancing  a  step  closer,  she  whispered 
a  few  words  in  his  ear. 

As  by  magic,  the  king's  countenance  cleared,  and  he 
turned  his  gaze  in  the  direction  of  Mademoiselle  de 
Vrissac,  who  at  a  little  distance  was  watching  the  inter- 
view with  parted  lips  and  eager  eyes. 

"Ventre  Saint  Gris!"  he  said,  with  a  low  laugh. 
"Lies  the  wind  in  that  quarter?  Well,  have  it  your 
own  way.  What  shall  his  punishment  be?" 

"Make  him  one  of  your  equerries." 

"  Eh !  But  you  go  far !  Bien,  so  be  it !  Monsieur  le 
Chevalier,"  he  continued,  turning  to  Raoul,  "at  the 


FROM   FAILURE — SUCCESS.  79 

queen's  intercession,  you  are  pardoned.  And,  at  her 
request,  I  appoint  you  my  equerry.  Your  duties  begin 
on  the  morrow." 

Scarce  believing  his  senses,  Raoul  sank  on  one  knee. 
It  was  as  if  Paradise  had  opened  before  one  who  had 
already  felt  the  pangs  of  the  place  of  torture. 

"Rise,  monsieur,  rise,"  said  the  gentle  voice  of  the 
queen. 

The  chevalier  obeyed,  the  color  returning  to  his 
cheeks  and  the  light  to  his  eyes. 

"  Ah,  madame,"  he  faltered,"  I  am  forever  prostate  at 
the  feet  of  your  merciful  Majesty.  It  is  only  now, 
madame,  that  I  comprehend  the  extent  of  my  au- 
dacity. " 

Marguerite  smiled. 

"In  truth,  chevalier,"  she  said,  kindly,  "you  must 
have  had  a  very  powerful  motive  to  make  the  Queen  of 
Navarre  your  accomplice  in  such  a  comedy.  And  I 
think  I  guess  it. "  She  motioned  Gabrielle,  who  was 
blushing  like  a  rose,  to  approach.  "  Reserve  your 
thanks  for  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac,  for  all  your  good 
fortune  is  due  to  her. " 

Raoul  de  Puycadere  never  knew  how  he  managed  to 
take  leave  of  the  royal  couple.  Half  dazed,  he  found 
himself  walking  by  the  side  of  the  maid  of  honor  through 
the  magnificent  apartment.  He  took  no  notice  of  the 
curious  looks  cast  at  him.  But  two  thoughts  occupied 
his  mind.  His  object  was  accomplished:  he  was 
equerry  to  the  king  of  Navarre;  and  from  the  queen's 
mouth  he  knew  that  he  owed  his  success  to  the  woman 
he  loved,  to  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac  (at  last  he  knew 
her  name). 

Gabrielle,  guessing  something  of  the  tumult  that 
raged  within  his  breast  led  the  way  to  the  deep  em- 


SO  A   G»NTLKMAN    FROM   GASCONY. 

brasure  of  a  window,  where  there  was  a  broad  seat, 
screened  by  heavy  curtains  which  fell  from  the  ceiling 
to  the  floor. 

Seating  herself  here,  she  motioned  the  new  equerry 
to  a  place  by  her  side,  an  invitation  Raoul  was  nothing 
loath  to  accept. 

By  this  time  he  had  recovered  much  of  his  customary 
equilibrium,  and  his  first  words  were  an  outpouring  of 
thanks  for  the  service  she  had  rendered  him,  an  out- 
burst which  Gabrielle  gently  checked.  "Indeed,  it 
was  nothing,"  she  said.  "I  beg  you  to  speak  no 
more. " 

"But  I  must." 

"  Then  if  you  must  speak,"  she  answered,  with  a  laugh 
and  glance  from  beneath  her  heavily  fringed  eyelids 
which  set  the  young  man's  heart  on  fire,  "tell  me  of 
yourself,  chevalier,  of  your  past,  of  your  hopes " 

"  My  past  does  not  exist,  mademoiselle,"  interrupted 
Raoul,  eagerly.  "  As  for  my  hopes,  my  ambitions,  they 
are  so  great,  so  foolish  that  my  heart  would  scarce  dare 
to  say  them  to  my  reason." 

The  violet  eyes  were  lowered  now,  the  fair  head  was 
bent,  and  a  faint  blush  tinged  the  perfect  oval  of  the 
cheek  half  turned  away  from  Raoul. 

"  I — I  do  not  understand,  monsieur. " 

"  May  I  make  you  understand?" 

But  to  the  eager  question  there  was  no  answer. 
Gently,  timidly  he  took  one  of  the  little  hands  that  lay 
idly  in  her  lap.  She  did  not  draw  it  away. 

Emboldened,  Raoul  continued  in  a  voice  low,  but 
thrilling  with  passion : 

"  Would  you  know  the  one  hope  of  my  life,  the  star 
•n  which  my  envious  gaze  is  fixed?  'Tis  you,  Gabrielle, 
you!  You  whom  I  loved  the  first  moment  I  saw  you, 


FROM    FAILURE — SUCCESS.  8l 

you  whom  I  shall  love  till  eternity.  Is  there  no  word 
of  hope  for  me?  No  word  to  tell  me  that  some  day, 
perhaps,  my  love  will  end  by  touching  your  heart?" 

"Would  such  a  hope  render  you  happy?" 

"  Ah !  so  happy  that,  through  gratitude,  I  should  go 
straight  on  high  to  thank  the  saints  in  Paradise!" 

A  lovely  smile  played  about  the  exquisite  lips  as  they 
murmured  in  tones  so  low  that  Raoul  had  to  bend  his 
head  close  to  catch  the  words: 

"  Go,  then.     The  road  is  open!" 

With  a  cry  Raoul  caught  her  in  his  arms,  close  to  his 
heart,  and  for  a  moment  the  two  were  forgetful  of  all 
else  in  that  supreme  happiness  which  comes  only  to 
lovers  in  this  workaday  world. 

Gabrielle  was  the  first  to  recover  herself.  Remem- 
bering the  semi-public  place  in  which  they  were,  she 
gently  withdrew  herself  from  her  lover's  embrace. 

"  You  love  me?"  murmured  Raoul,  half  beside  him- 
self with  joy.  "  Me?  Is  it  possible,  a  poor  chevalier 
without  a  possession  in  the  world  save  his  sword?" 

Gabrielle  turned  upon  him  a  look  of  amazement. 

"  What !  nothing  in  the  world  save  your  sword !  But 
the  ancient  domain  of  Puycadere  with  its  dozen 
towers " 

Raoul's  heart  sank,  and  a  horrible  feeling  of  shame 
and  embarrassment  took  possession  of  him.  Curses  on 
his  glib  tongue  that  had  got  him  into  this  awkward 
predicament!  It  was  laggard  enough  now,  however, 
for  he  could  only  stammer  out  some  incoherent  words. 
Seeing  his  confusion,  Gabrielle's  lips  twitched.  She 
longed  to  laugh  outright.  She  was  certain  now  of  the 
truth,  which,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  she  had  strongly 
suspected  before.  Poor  fellow !  And  yet  an  irresistible 
spirit  of  mischief  seized  her,  and  she  could  lot  resist 


82  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

the  impulse  to  torment  him,  and  at  the  same  time  per- 
haps to  teach  his  Gascon  tongue  a  lesson. 

Where  is  the  woman  yet  who,  sure  of  her  power,  bien 
entendu,  does  not  take  a  keen  delight  in  tantalizing  the 
man  she  loves? 

"Do  you  know  I  long  to  see  Gascony!"  proceeded 
Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac,  watching  out  of  the  corner  of 
her  eye  the  luckless  chevalier,  who  was  on  pins  and 
needles  at  her  every  word.  "  Gascony  which  contains 
your  splendid  estate.  I  think  of  those  hundred  vassals, 
whose  devotion  and  fidelity  you  praised  so  highly,  and 
who  must  at  this  very  moment  be  so  sad  at  your  absence. " 

"Mordiou!  They  have  ample  to  do, "  faltered  poor 
Raoul,  scarcely  knowing  what  he  was  saying. 

"Yes,  and  your  horses,  your  fields,  your  kennels!" 
continued  his  fair  tormentor  vivaciously.  "  How  many 
hounds  have  you  in  each?" 

Raoul  was  silent. 

"Well,  you  don't  answer  me?  How  thoughtful  you 
have  become,  almost  sad!  What  is  the  matter,  cheva- 
lier?" 

"The  matter  is,"  burst  out  Raoul,  unable  to  contain 
himself  longer — "  the  matter  is  that  I  have  nothing  at 
all." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  exclaimed  Mademoiselle  de 
Vrissac,  in  affected  surprise. 

"  I  mean  that  if  it  was  upon  the  rich  and  powerful 
suzerain  you  deigned  to  smile  just  now " 

"  Then  you  have  no  chateau?" 

"Yes,  but " 

"  But?" 

"It  is  in  ruins." 

"  And  the  towers?" 

"They  lie  upon  the  ground" 


FROM    FAILURE — SUCCESS.  8j 

"  But  your  vassals!     How  many  vassals  have  you?" 

"Two." 

"Two!" 

"  Who  would  have  loved  you  as  a  hundred.  And  s» 
would  my  poor  Rustaud." 

"Who  is  Rustaud?" 

"Rustaud,"  stammered  the  chevalier,  overwhelmed 
with  shame — "  Rustaud  is  my  kennels." 

"But  then,  chevalier,  you  have  deceived  me!" 

The  accent  was  severe,  but  if  De  Puycadere  had 
dared  to  look  in  her  face,  he  would  have  found  that  its 
expression  told  another  tale. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  desperately,  "yes,  as  I  have 
others,  but  you  had  not  told  me  then  that  I  might  hope 
for  your  love.  Now,  I  can  no  longer  lie,  and  I  tell  you 
all." 

"  Perhaps  even  what  you  have  told  me  to-night  is  not 
true,"  she  said,  in  a  much  gentler  tone. 

"Never!"  he  cried,  passionately.  "Never!  See! 
Here  is  your  handkerchief  which  I  have  worn  next  my 
heart  since  the  moment  I  first  met  you !  Yes,  I  am 
poor,  an  adventurer !  But  loved  by  you,  you  shall  see 
of  what  I  am  capable !  My  love  will  accomplish  mira- 
cles! And  if,  perchance,  you  should  desire  for  your 
golden  head  a  crown  made  of  stars,  I  would  fly  to  the 
skies  to  gather  for  you  the  most  brilliant!" 

Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac  laughed — a  silvery,  happy 
laugh. 

"You  incorrigible  Gascon!"  she  exclaimed. 

And  then  with  one  of  those  sudden  changes  of  mood 
and  manner  which  were  so  natural  to  her,  and  which 
set  upon  her  with  peculiar  charm,  she  added,  almost 
caressingly : 

"Think  no  more  of  your  poverty.     One  who  asks 


84  A   GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCONT. 

aught  else  of  love  save  love  itself  does  not  deserve  to 
be  loved. " 

A  torrent  of  rapturous  words  rushed  to  Raoul's  lips, 
but  their  flow  was  interrupted  by  the  appearance  be- 
tween the  curtains  of  a  page,  who  announced  that  the 
queen  was  about  to  retire  and  demanded  the  presence 
of  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac. 

"Say  to  her  majesty  I  will  join  her  instantly,"  re- 
plied Gabrielle. 

"  One  moment,"  pleaded  Raoul,  as  the  page  departed. 
"When  shall  I  see  you  again?" 

Gabrielle  started,  and  for  the  first  time  her  thoughts 
turned  toward  her  aunt  and  her  cousin,  the  vicomte. 
What  would  her  guardians  say  to  a  Huguenot  suitor? 
A  Huguenot!  Ah!  And  an  iron  hand  seemed  to  grasp 
her  heart  as  she  remembered  the  maudlin  confidences 
of  Paul  de  Bassompierre.  What  had  he  said?  "  Within 
four  and  twenty  hours  Paris  will  be  gay  at  the  death- 
dance  of  the  heretics."  Then  Raoul,  her  lover, — yes 
and  the  man  that  she  loved  with  the  whole  strength  of 
her  virgin  heart — was  in  danger!  But  the  duke  had 
said  too  that  all  who  wore  a  white  cross  on  their  hat  and 
a  white  scarf  on  their  arm  were  safe. 

There  was  no  time  to  lose.  The  queen  even  now 
might  be  impatient.  Under  the  chevalier's  wondering 
eyes  she  tore  her  handkerchief  with  feverish  haste  into 
the  rude  semblance  of  a  double  cross,  and  snatching  up 
Raoul's  hat  from  where  it  lay  on  the  window-seat,  she 
deftly  fastened  it  in  the  front. 

Then  turning  to  the  bewildered  young  man,   she 

caught  the   other  handkerchief  which    he    still   held 

in  his  hands  and  tied  it  about  his  arm  just  above  his 

elbow. 

"There  is  no  time  for  explanation,"  she  said,  raising 


FROM    FAILURE — SUCCESS.  85 

her  lovely  eyes  to  his  with  a  world  of  entreaty  in  their 
violet  depths,  and  something  suspiciously  like  a  sob  in 
her  voice.  "  Keep  these  concealed  until  you  have  left 
the  palace.  But  promise  me  that  you  will  wear  them! 
Wear  them,  for  my  sake!  Promise  me — promise  me, 
Raouir 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   EVE   OF   SAINT    BARTHOLOMEW. 

PUZZLED  as  he  was,  what  could  Raoul  de  Puycadere 
do  but  consent?  And  no  sooner  was  the  promise  given 
than  Gabrielle  was  forced  to  hasten  away  to  join  the 
queen. 

With  the  sunshine  of  her  presence  vanished,  the  chev- 
alier had  no  desire  to  linger  further  at  the  Louvre.  It 
was  very  late,  and  he  had  a  long  journey  back  to  Saint 
Germain.  Drawing  his  cloak  over  the  white  badge 
upon  his  arm,  and  holding  his  hat  pressed  against  his 
side  so  as  to  conceal  the  cross,  he  traversed  the  throne 
room,  which  was  now  thinning  rapidly,  as  their  maj- 
esties of  Navarre  had  already  taken  their  departure. 
As  he  neared  the  door,  he  suddenly  became  aware  of  a 
group  of  courtiers  gathered  together  only  a  pace  or  two 
away.  He  raised  his  eyes  and  met  the  gaze  of  a  dark, 
sinister-looking  man,  a  gaze  of  infinite  hatred  and  ma- 
lignancy. He  recognized  him  at  once;  it  was  the  man 
with  whom  he  had  quarreled  at  Saint  Germain,  the 
cousin  and  guardian  of  Gabrielle. 

Involuntarily  De  Puycadere  paused,  but,  as  the  vi- 
comte  made  no  movement,  he  contented  himself  with 
a  respectful  salutation  to  the  group,  and  passed  out  of 
the  door,  down  the  staircase,  and  into  the  street. 

The  place  in  front  of  the  Louvre  was  almost  deserted 
now,  presenting  a  strong  contrast  to  the  scene  Raoul 
bad  witnessed  upon  his  arrival  at  the  palace. 


THE   EVE   OF   SAINT    BARTHOLOMEW.  87 

He  hurried  along,  meeting  every  now  and  then  little 
knots  of  men,  who  eyed  him  curiously,  but  made  no 
offer  to  molest  him. 

He,  on  his  part,  paid  no  attention  to  them.  His 
thoughts  were  too  busy  with  the  exciting  events  of  the 
evening.  A  thousand  birds  were  singing  in  his  heai  t 
a  melody  sweeter  far  than  living  birds  were  ever  knowr. 
to  sing,  a  melody  of  which  the  refrain  was :  Gabrielle ! 
Gabrielle !  Gabrielle ! 

Suddenly,  as  he  turned  swiftly  the  corner  of  a  street, 
he  was  roused  from  his  pleasant  revery  by  running 
plump  into  a  burly  fellow,  who  with  an  oath  clapped  his 
hand  to  the  hilt  of  his  sword. 

But  as  the  light  from  a  swinging  lantern  struck  full 
upon  Raoul's  face,  he  thrust  back  his  half -drawn  blade 
with  an  exclamation  of  surprise. 

"  What !     Master  Raoul !     You !     You  in  Paris !" 

Raoul  was  no  less  astounded  to  recognize  the  florid, 
honest  countenance  of  one  who  had  been  many  years  in 
the  service  of  his  father. 

"Mordiou!  Is  it  you,  Simon  Beppa?"  grasping  both 
the  man's  hands.  "And  how  prospers  it,  old  com- 
rade?" 

"  Fairly  well,  Master  Raoul,  fairly  well.  I  am  land- 
lord of  the  Green  Dragon,  close  to  the  Pont  Neuf." 

"I'll  give  you  a  call,  good  Simon.  I'll  warrant  you 
scarcely  expected  to  see  me  in  Paris. " 

Simon  Beppa  started,  and  gave  a  quick  glance  about 
him.  Then,  seeing  that  no  one  was  within  earshot,  he 
answered,  but  with  evident  anxiety : 

"  No,  nor  desired  to ;  pardon  me,  Monsieur  le  Cheva- 
lier, but  what  evil  wind  has  blown  you  hither?" 

"Evil  wind!"  echoed  Raoul,  gayly.  "Evil  wind! 
Say  rather  the  softest  breeze  that  ever  blew  a  voyager 


88  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

to  a  wished-for  shore.  I  came  borne  upon  the  wings  of 
Hope,  my  faithful  Simon." 

"  I  would  it  had  blown  you  anywhere  else,"  retorted 
his  companion  grimly.  "  Have  a  care,  Master  Raoul. 
I  fear " 

"  Peste,  good  Simon !  We  Huguenots  are  no  longer 
in  danger " 

"Chut!  chut!"  interrupted  Beppa  in  alarm,  grasp- 
ing the  chevalier's  cloak  imploringly.  "  By  blessed 
Saint  Martin !  Have  a  care,  Master  Raoul !" 

"  Mordiou!  he  swears  by  the  saints,"  returned  Raoul, 
laughing.  "  My  father's  old  Protestant  steward !  What 
new  miracle  is  this!" 

With  every  word,  Beppa's  agitation  and  alarm  seemed 
to  increase.  He  took  a  fresh  grip  on  the  young  man's 
cloak,  and  said,  almost  in  a  whisper : 

"  I  go  with  the  times,  Master  Raoul,  and  these  are 
fearful  ones.  Take  the  advice  of  an  old  servant  and 
well-wisher  to  the  name  of  Puycadere,  and  just  take 
horse  again  and  put  a  ten  good  leagues  between  you 
and  this  Papistical  city  of  Paris!" 

"Far  from  it!  Here  I  remain!  You  know  not,  old 
blockhead,  that  I  am  equerry  to  the  King  of  Navarre." 

Simon  started  back,  releasing  the  cloak,  and  in  so 
doing  exposing  the  white  handkerchief  bound  about 
De  Puycadere's  arm. 

"Equerry  to  the  King  of  Navarre!"  he  echoed.  And 
then,  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  snowy  badge,  he  gasped 
aad  his  eyes  nearly  bulged  out  of  his  head  in  astonish- 
ment.  "What!  You,  a  Protestant,  wear  this?"  and 
he  touched  the  handkerchief. 

"Why  not?"  retorted  Raoul,  a  little  angrily.  "Of 
course  I  am  a  Protestant" 

"  But  this  badge?" 


THE    EVE    OF    SAINT    BARTHOLOMEW.  89 

*'  That  I  wear  in  obedience  to  a  promise  given. " 

"  And  you  know  not  its  meaning?" 

Had  the  light  from  the  lantern  not  been  shining  full 
in  Raoul's  eyes  and  so  dazzled  his  sight,  he  might  have 
noticed  that  Simon  Beppa  also  wore  a  band  of  white 
linen  on  his  arm. 

"Meaning,  no!     Explain  yourself !" 

"Oh!  Master  Raoul!"  ejaculated  Beppa,  now  beside 
himself  with  terror,  not  on  his  own  account,  but  on  ac- 
count of  the  son  of  hi°  old  master,  "  I  implore  you  come 
with  me  and  I  will  hide  you  in  the  Green  Dragon, " 

"Hide!"  exclaimed  the  chevalier,  now  quite  out  of 
patience  with  Beppa 's  extraordinary  behavior.  "  No, 
not  a  step  do  I  go,  till  this  mystery  is  explained." 

"And  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost,"  groaned  Simon, 
wringing  his  hands.  Then,  as  if  taken  with  a  desper- 
ate resolution,  he  went  on  breathlessly:  "  Master  Raoul, 
it  is  death  for  a  Huguenot  to  be  in  the  streets  this  night. 
In  five  minutes  the  bell  of  Saint  Germain  1'Auxerrois 
will  give  the  signal  for  a  general  massacre." 

In  horrified  incredulity,  Raoul  seized  the  other  by 
the  arm. 

"Impossible!"  he  gasped. 

"'Tis  true.  Oh,  believe  me,  before  it  is  too  late. 
'Tis  by  the  order  of  the  king  and  the  Duke  of  Guise 
and  the  admiral  is  to  be  the  first  victim." 

"Coligny!" 

"Yes." 

"  But  how  do  you  know  this?" 

"  As  I  told  you,  I  go  with  the  times.  I — I  am  a  Cath- 
olic now." 

Raoul  knew  the  former  steward  well,  and,  his  first 
amazement  gone,  he  was  convinced  that  he  was  speak- 
ing the  truth. 


pO  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

In  an  instant  the  chevalier's  resolution  was  taken. 

"  Where  does  the  admiral  live?" 

"  In  the  Rue  de  Be*thisy,  a  large  house,  opening  on  a 
court  in  front,  flanked  by  two  wings. " 

"And  the  nearest  way?" 

"  Through  an  alley-way,  two  streets  down,  and  then 
through  the  Rue  des  Fosses  close  to  the  church  of  Saint 
Germain  I'Auxerrois." 

"Thanks." 

"Where  are  you  going?  Master  Raoul,  where  are 
you  going?"  cried  Simon,  attempting  to  stay  the  way. 

But  the  impetuous  Gascon,  with  little  ceremony, 
waved  him  aside. 

"  To  warn  the  admiral !"  he  cried.  "  Pray  God  I  be  in 
time!" 

And  before  the  worthy  ex-servitor  of  his  family  could 
make  move  to  prevent  him,  he  had  vanished  at  full 
speed  around  the  corner. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE    DEATH-KNELL. 

OVERCOME  with  horror  at  the  revelation  which  had 
just  been  made  to  him,  but  still  with  but  one  thought 
in  his  mind — the  salvation  of  the  admiral, — Raoul  ran 
at  full  speed  until  he  reached  the  alley  which  was  the 
short  cut  to  the  Rue  des  Fosses. 

Here  he  was  brought  to  a  stop  by  a  man  apparently 
a  sentinel,  who  lowered  his  arquebuse  and  barred  the 
way. 

" The  watchword,  comrade!" 

"  Guise,"  cried  De  Puycadere,  imagining  that  on  such 
a  night  this  would  be  the  most  natural  password.  And 
his  instinct  proved  true.  For  after  a  scrutiny  which 
showed  the  white  badges  the  sentinel  lowered  his 
weapon  with  a  brief: 

"  Pass,  comrade!     Death  to  the  Huguenots!" 

And  Raoul,  too  breathless  to  reply,  sped  down  the 
dark  alley. 

Stumbling  over  the  rough  pavement,  he  finally 
emerged  into  the  better  lighted  Rue  des  Fosses. 

Scarcely  had  he  passed  the  corner,  when  the  sharp 
crack  of  a  pistol  saluted  his  ears,  responded  to  almost 
on  the  moment  by  one  deep  note  boomed  forth  from  the 
tower  of  the  neighboring  church. 

The  signal ! 

Was  there  yet  time,  or  would  he  be  too  late? 

As  if  by  magic,  the  street  was  filled  with  a  surging 


9*  A  GENTLEMAN    FROM   GASCOHY. 

mass.  Prom  the  neighboring  houses,  the  savage  sol- 
diers of  the  Italian  and  Swiss  guards,  who  had  been 
well  primed  with  strong  drink,  leaped  forth,  and  in  a 
moment  the  air  rang  with  the  clank  of  arms  and  the 
cry: 

"  Kill !    Kill !     Death  to  the  Huguenots !" 

Every  man  was  armed,  some  with  drawn  swords, 
others  with  arquebuses,  and  some  in  the  left  hand  held 
torches  which  threw  a  fitful  glare  over  the  scene. 

Hemmed  in  as  he  was  on  all  sides,  Raoul  determined 
to  sell  his  life  dearly.  At  the  first  sound  of  the  bell, 
he  had  drawn  his  sword,  but  there  seemed  to  be  no 
opportunity  to  use  it.  No  one  seemed  disposed  to 
molest  him,  although  more  than  one  scrutinized  him 
closely,  but  a  glance  at  the  double  cross  in  his  hat  ap- 
parently banished  all  suspicion. 

"Kill!  Kill!  Death  to  the  Huguenots!  The  king 
has  signed  the  warrant  of  their  doom !"  rang  out  from 
hundreds  of  throats,  parched  with  the  thirst  of  blood. 

"Vive  la  Messe!  Vive  le  Due  de  Guise!  Mort  aux 
Huguenots!" 

And  now  ensued  a  horrible  scene.  The  houses  of  the 
Huguenots,  previously  marked  with  a  white  cross,  were 
broken  open,  and  the  inmates  dragged  out  to  be  butch- 
ered in  cold  blood. 

Amid  the  din  of  yelling  soldiers,  the  groans  of  the 
dying,  the  shrieks  of  despairing  women  and  the 
affrighted  screams  of  children,  rose  the  sound  of  bells 
from  almost  every  belfry  in  Paris. 

Stunned,  horrified,  Raoul  was  borne  along  by  the 
yelling  masses,  realizing  his  powerlessness,  but  deter- 
mined to  snatch  at  any  chance  that  might  enable  him 
to  reach  the  admiral  first,  warn  him,  and  aid  him  to 
escape. 


THE    DEATH-KNELL.  93 

Suddenly  there  were  loud  cries  ahead  of: 

"Guise!     Guise!" 

The  crowd  parted  right  and  left,  and  through  the 
broken  ranks  appeared  a  young  man,  riding  upon  a 
powerful  black  horse  and  waving  a  sword  above  his 
head.  It  was  the  popular  idol,  Henri  of  Lorraine, 
Duke  of  Guise,  the  instigator  of  the  foul  work. 

As  if  to  increase  the  niob's  frenzy,  he  cried  at  the 
top  of  his  voice : 

"Kill!  Kill!  The  doctors  say  blood  letting  in 
August  is  as  good  as  in  May!  To  the  admiral's!  To 
the  admiral's!" 

"To  the  admiral's!  Guise!  Guise!"  screamed  the 
nearest  of  the  mob,  and  the  cry  was  taken  up  and  re- 
echoed far  down  the  street. 

In  the  press  that  greeted  the  advent  of  the  duke,  De 
Puycadere  was  forced  close  to  the  wall.  Not  a  yard 
away  was  a  dark  passage,  between  two  lofty  houses. 
This  passage  led  in  the  direction  of  the  Rue  de  Be"thisy, 
and  as  Raoul  realized  this,  he  at  once  formed  a  plan 
of  action. 

Pushing  and  crowding  his  way  and  paying  but  scant 
attention  to  the  oaths  and  angry  looks  that  greeted  his 
progress,  he  succeeded  in  reaching  the  entrance.  Then, 
watching  his  opportunity,  he  darted  down  the  passage 
and  dashed  wildly  away  with  no  other  guide  than  in- 
stinct. It  was  hard  work,  for  the  passage  was  ill  paved, 
and  more  than  once  he  narrowly  escaped  being  thrown 
headlong  to  the  ground. 

A  dim  light  ahead  showed  what  must  be  the  Rue  de 
Be"thisy,  and  he  redoubled  his  speed.  Was  he  in  time? 
Yes,  the  street  was  quiet.  The  mob  had  not  reached 
the  admiral's. 

Turning  the  corner,  he  sped  along  the  Rue  de  B6- 


94  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM   GASCONY. 

thisy  and  had  almost  reached  the  house  of  the  admiral, 
when  his  headlong  career  was  rudely  checked  by  the 
appearance  directly  in  his  path  of  a  soldier  in  the  uni- 
form of  the  Swiss  guard,  who  stepped  out  from  the 
shadow  of  a  portico. 

"Halt!" 

Too  excited  to  remember  watchword  or  excuse,  the 
chevalier  without  a  moment's  hesitation  attacked  his 
challenger.  The  fight  was  brief,  for  although  Raoul 
received  a  slight  cut  across  the  forehead,  he  was  too 
good  a  swordsman  for  his  antagonist,  and,  in  shorter 
time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it  he  had  run  the  latter  through 
the  body. 

The  Swiss  uttered  a  loud  shriek  and  fell  prone  upon 
the  pavement. 

Thrusting  the  body  aside  with  his  foot,  Raoul  ran 
madly  on. 

During  the  delay,  the  mob  had  entered  the  street. 
The  red  glare  of  the  torches  made  a  path  as  if  of  blood 
before  him,  and  the  footsteps  and  yells  of  the  pursuing 
crowd,  which  could  not  be  more  than  three  hundred 
yards  away,  gave  him  wings.  The  blood  from  his 
wound  was  trickling  down  his  face  and  half  blinding 
him.  His  gasping  breath  came  in  a  hoarse  rattle  from 
his  chest.  At  last!  The  entrance  of  the  admiral's 
house  was  before  him.  In  desperation  he  flung  himself 
against  the  door  and  beat  with  both  hands  upon  the 
panels. 

"Open!"  he  screamed  hoarsely.  "Open,  in  the 
king's  name !" 

Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  frenzied  rabble.  Would 
the  door  never  be  opened?  Then,  just  as  he  was  yield- 
ing to  despair,  the  clank  of  chains  and  the  rattle  of 
bolts  fell  upon  his  ear  and  the  heavy  portals  swung 


THE  DEATH-KNELL.  95 

slowly  open.  Darting  in,  Raoul  unceremoniously 
pushed  aside  the  pale  and  trembling  porter,  and 
slammed  the  doors  to.  To  make  all  fast  was  the  work 
of  a  moment,  but  it  was  accomplished  none  too  soon, 
for  scarcely  was  the  last  bolt  rushed  into  its  socket,  than 
the  oak  resounded  with  the  first  onslaught  of  the  would- 
be  assassins. 

The  chevalier  dashed  the  blood  from  out  of  his  eyes, 
and  seizing  the  porter  by  the  arm,  he  commanded  him 
to  lead  the  way  to  the  admiral. 

The  shaking  wretch  obeyed,  wringing  his  hands  and 
groaning : 

"  Oh !  my  poor  master,  he  has  been  wounded  for  the 
cause  of  France  and  now  he  is  to-be  slain  by  his  own 
countrymen!" 

Hurrying  his  guide  with  fierce  words  and  even  with 
pricks  of  his  sword,  the  chevalier,  mad  with  impatience, 
traversed  corridor  after  corridor,  finally  to  find  himself 
in  a  medium-sized  apartment,  in  which  were  gathered 
together  some  dozen  persons. 

From  the  little  group  advanced  a  stately,  dignified 
old  man,  with  a  long  white  beard  flowing  over  his 
breast. 

"  Monsieur,  may  I  ask  the  reason  of  this  intrusion?" 
he  inquired  calmly. 

"The  admiral?"  gasped  Raoul,  still  breathless  from 
his  recent  exertions. 

"Yes,  lamColigny." 

"  Away,  monsieur,  away,  or  it  will  be  too  late.  Even 
now  the  hell-hounds  are  on  your  track,  seeking  your  life. " 

As  De  Puycadere  spoke,  there  was  a  distant,  resound' 
ing  crash,  which  told  that  the  entrance  had  been  beaten 
down.  And  then  came  the  sound  of  hurrying  footstep* 
and  angry  voices. 


$6  A    GENTLEMAN  .FROM    GASCONY. 

The  admiral  knew  what  it  meant,  as  well  he  might, 
for  his  servants  were  being  butchered,  and  their  shrieks 
rang  through  the  house. 

"Fly,"  he  said  quietly,  turning  to  the  attendants 
who  remained  near  him.  "  You  cannot  save  me,  and  it 
will  be  vain  to  fling  away  your  lives  in  the  cause  of  a 
nan  who  stands  on  the  threshold  of  the  grave."  There 
was  a  moment  of  hesitation,  and  then,  as  the  sounds  of 
the  savage  clamor  grew  nearer,  all  save  one  turned  and 
ran  like  frightened  sheep,  seeking  to  make  their  escape 
by  the  roof. 

"The  cowards!"  cried  Raoul  in  a  fury,  and  he  would 
have  sought  to  stay  their  flight  had  not  tlie  admiral 
himself  commanded  him  to  desist. 

The  one  who  remained  was  a  tall,  pale  man,  dressed 
in  a  physician's  gown  of  sombre  black. 

"Fly,  my  good  Ambrose,  fly,"  urged  Coligny. 

"Never,"  retorted  Pare,  for  it  was  the  king's  phy- 
sician who  was  in  attendance  on  the  admiral  and  had 
happened  to  remain  in  the  house  that  night.  "  Never! 
If  I  cannot  save  you,  at  least  I  can  die  with  you !" 

The  thunder  of  approaching  footsteps  was  in  the  cor- 
ridor, and  before  another  word  could  be  spoken  the 
curtains  which  covered  the  doorway  were  thrust  violently 
aside,  and  into  the  room  rushed  a  crowd  of  men  in 
glittering  cuirasses,  shrieking  like  demons  and  waving 
their  blood-stained  weapons. 

With  drawn  sword,  Raoul  sprang  in  front  of  the 
admiral ! 


THE    ASSASSINATION    OF    COLIGNY. 

"WHO  are  you?"  asked  a  rough-looking  fellow  witk 
a  German,  accent,  stepping  up  to  Raoul,  as  the  rabble  in 
seemingly  countless  numbers  poured  into  the  room. 
"We  seek  Admiral  Coligny!" 

The  chevalier's  eyes  flashed  fire.  Holding  himself 
on  the  defensive,  he  answered  in  a  clear,  ringing  voice: 

"You  can  reach  him  only  over  my  dead  body." 

"Oh,  say  you  so!"  retorted  the  other,  whose  name 
was  Behm,  and  who  was  a  villain  of  the  first  order. 
"We  will  soon  settle  that,  my  master!"  And  he  made 
a  movement  to  rush  upon  the  dauntless  Gascon. 

But  before  a  blow  could  be  struck  on  either  side, 
Raoul,  whose  whole  attention  had  been  concentrated 
upon  the  German,  felt  his  wrist  seized  from  behind  in 
an  iron  grasp,  and  a  sudden  twist  sent  his  sword  flying 
into  a  corner  of  the  room.  Then,  before  he  could  re- 
cover himself,  stout  hands  seized  him  on  either  side, 
and  his  arms  were  as  effectively  pinioned  as  if  they  had 
been  bound. 

"  I  will  deal  with  him.  Master  Behm,"  exclaimed  one 
of  his  captors.  "  I  know  him.  He  has  been  drinking 
and  is  not  himself.  Look  at  his  badges.  He  is  as  good 
a  Catholic  as  yourself. " 

"Very  well,"  growled  the  German.     "We'll  take  the 
big  fish  and  let  the  small  fry  go.     One  salmon  is  worth 
more  than  a  thousand  frogs!" 
I 


gg  A   GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCONY. 

In  spite  of  his  resistance,  Raoul  was  dragged  away 
from  in  front  of  the  admiral.  But  as  he  still  continued 
to  struggle,  one  of  the  men  proceeded  calmly  to  trip 
him  up,  and  then  sat  down  on  his  arms  while  the  other 
planted  himself  on  his  feet. 

"  It's  no  use,  Master  Raoul,  you  can  do  nothing.  It 
was  the  only  way  to  save  your  life,"  whispered  a  voice 
in  his  ear,  which  he  recognized  as  that  of  Simon  Beppa, 
and  though  inwardly  raging  at  his  helplessness,  he  was 
forced  to  submit. 

Neither  Coligny  nor  Ambrose  Pare  was  armed,  but 
neither  flinched  before  the  bloodthirsty  assassins. 

"Which  of  you  is  the  admiral?"  demanded  Behm, 
with  a  coarse  oath. 

But  before  a  reply  could  be  made,  a  voice  of  com- 
mand rang  out  from  the  corridor : 

"  Don't  touch  the  man  in  black,  on  your  lives!  It  is 
the  king's  physician,  and  his  life  is  sacred!" 

Behm  made  a  sign  to  his  followers,  and  Ambrose 
Pare,  who  was  possessed  of  but  little  physical  strength, 
was  seized  and  removed  from  the  side  of  his  doomed 
friend. 

"So,  you  are  Coligny!"  ejaculated  the  German,  his 
eyes  aflame  with  the  lust  of  murder. 

The  venerable  admiral,  who  had  won  so  many  vic- 
tories for  his  country  and  his  king,  drew  his  stately 
figure  up  to  its  full  height. 

"  I  am  he,"  he  replied,  calmly.  "  But  beware,  young 
sir,  before  you  stain  your  hands  with  my  blood.  I  am 
a  wounded  and  helpless  man!  But  why  should  I  waste 
breath?  If  I  am  to  die,  my  last  thoughts  should  be  of 
Him  who  gave  me  life. " 

Scarcely  had  the  last  word  been  uttered  when  Behm 
plunged  into  his  stomach  a  huge,  pointed  boar-spear, 


THE    ASSASSINATION    OF   COLIGNY.  99 

which  he  had  in  his  hand,  and  then  struck  him  on  the 
head  with  it. 

Raoul  uttered  a  cry  of  impotent  rage,  and  struggled 
without  avail  to  free  himself. 

Coligny  fell,  murmuring : 

"  If  it  were  but  a  man!     But  'tis  a  horse-boy!" 

Others  of  the  miscreants  then  advanced  and  struck 
him  in  their  turn. 

"Hola,  Behm,"  cried  a  voice  from  without,  and, 
pushing  through  the  crowd,  appeared  a  young  man, 
clothed  in  the  richest  of  velvet,  with  a  jewelled  collar 
about  his  neck  and  falling  low  over  his  breast. 

"  'Tis  done,  Monseigneur,"  replied  the  German, 
with  the  greatest  sang-froid,  pointing  to  the  body  pros- 
trate at  his  feet. 

"Mafoi,  'tis  indeed  the  admiral!"  ejaculated  Guise, 
approaching,  and  viewing  the  helpless  figure  with 
silent  ecstasy. 

"Ah!"  he  continued,  planting  his  foot  upon  the 
breast  of  the  Protestant  hero.  "At  last,  Coligny! 
Murderer  of  my  father,  thus  do  I  avenge  him !" 

But  so  tenacious  of  life  was  the  unhappy  man,  that, 
though  stabbed  and  hacked  in  a  dozen  places,  he  opened 
his  eyes,  clinched  his  mutilated  hand,  and,  in  a  hollow 
voice,  with  his  fast-glazing  eyes  fixed  upon  the  duke, 
panted  forth :  "  Henri  de  Guise,  I  did  not  kill  your 
father.  One  day  the  foot  of  the  assassin  shall  be  planted 
upon  your  breast!  My  curse  upon  you!" 

Pale  as  death,  the  duke  started  back,  and  an  invol- 
untary shudder  passed  over  him.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  the  veil  of  the  future  had  suddenly  been  rent  in 
twain. 

But  not  so  with  Behm.  No  qualms  assaulted  his 
guiH-Ijardened  conscience. 


100  A    GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCON Y. 

"  Peste!"  he  cried.  "  The  old  fox  has  nine  lives  like 
a  cat!" 

And,  drawing  his  dagger,  he  stabbed  the  helpless  ad- 
miral again  and  again. 

With  one  long-drawn  sigh,  the  soul  of  the  splendid 
old  man  passed  to  its  Maker. 

Shuddering,  the  Duke  of  Guise  passed  his  hand  over 
his  face,  which  was  contorted  as  that  of  one  in  mortal 
agony. 

"  'Tis  a  good  beginning,"  he  said  in  a  hollow  voice, 
and,  nerving  himself  to  the  effort,  he  spurned  the  body 
with  his  foot.  "  Forward !  Death  to  the  Huguenots  as 
the  king  commands!" 

"And  Master  Pare,  Monseigneur?"  asked  Behm. 

"  Release  him.  The  king  has  exacted  that  his  life 
shall  be  spared." 

The  physician  advanced,  and,  kneeling  by  the  side  of 
the  dead  admiral,  took  his  head  in  his  lap. 

Guise  gave  him  one  contemptuous  glance,  and,  tam- 
ing, strode  rapidly  from  the  room,  followed  by  Behm 
and  many  of  the  others. 

"You  are  free,  Master  Raoul,"  said  Simon  Beppa, 
releasing  his  captive,  who  rose  to  his  feet  and  groaned 
in  anguish  as  he  saw  that  the  bloody  work  had  been 
consummated. 

"  Forgive  my  violence,"  continued  Beppa,  "  but  other- 
wise you  would  have  shared  his  fate.  And  now  I  be- 
seech you  to  come  with  me.  Single-handed,  you  can 
do  nothing,  and  the  Green  Dragon  will  offer  you  a  safe 
asylum. " 

Reluctantly,  the  chevalier  was  forced  to  concede  that 
the  innkeeper  was  right  and  was  about  to  assent  to  his 
proposition,  when  suddenly  a  man  darted  from  the 
mass  that  were  pushing  their  way  through  the  rather 


THE   ASSASSINATION    OF   COLIGNY.  IOI 

narrow  exit,  and,  flourishing  his  sword,  made  straight 
toward  them,  his  dark  face  illumined  with  a  fiendish 
delight  at  the  discovery. 

"  'Tis  the  Vicomte  de  Vrissac!"  muttered  Beppa  in 
dismay,  and  the  Chevalier  recognized  him  at  the  same 
instant. 

The  other  members  of  the  murdering  band  had  by 
this  time  left  the  room,  the  heavy  door  clanging  behind 
them. 

"  Hold,  monsieur, "  cried  Beppa,  advancing  a  step  or 
two,  and,  by  so  doing,  placing  himself  between  the 
vicomte  and  his  intended  victim.  "  You  are  mistaken. 
This  is  no  Huguenot.  See  his  badge. " 

"  A  pest  upon  his  badge !  Did  he  wear  twenty  crosses 
I  know  him  for  a  Huguenot  of  the  Huguenots.  Was  he 
not  this  very  night  made  equerry  to  the  so-styled  King 
of  Navarre.  Out  of  my  way,  blockhead!" 

"  But " 

"You  are  right,  Monsieur  le  Vicomte,"  interrupted 
Raoul,  thrusting  Simon  aside.  "  I  am  the  Chevalier 
de  Puycadere  and  a  Huguenot.  I  am  pleased  to  en- 
counter you  again  and  to  have  this  opportunity  to  renew 
the  quarrel  interrupted  at  Saint  Germain. " 

"I  do  not  fight  with  heretics, "  retorted  the  other 
furiously ;  "  I  slay  them  as  I  would  a  mad  dog. " 

And  without  further  words,  he  made  a  rush  upon  the 
young  Gascon. 

To  avoid  the  onslaught,  Raoul  retreated  a  step  or 
two,  and  as  he  did  so  his  foot  struck  against  some 
object  on  the  floor — his  own  sword,  which  had  fallen 
there  when  hurled  away  by  Beppa. 

With  a  rugissement  of  joy  he  stooped  and  snatched  it 
up.  Not  a  moment  too  soon!  for  the  vicomte  was 
already  upon  him.  Indeed  the  former's  sharp  blade 


10*  A  GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCONY. 

pierced  the  sleeve  of  the  chevalier's  doublet,  tearing 
away,  as  it  was  withdrawn,  Gabrielle's  handkerchief. 

"Coward!"  roared  Raoul,  striking  his  assailant  on 
the  face  with  the  flat  of  his  weapon  for  want  of  room  to 
thrust  at  him  with  the  point. 

With  a  furious  ejaculation  and  white  with  anger,  De 
Vrissac  retreated  a  step,  and  then  steel  clashed  against 
steel.  The  vicomte  was  a  swordsman  of  the  first  order, 
and  Raoul  soon  recognized  that  he  had  met  his  equal. 
Exhausted  as  he  was  by  excitement  and  the  loss  of 
blood  resulting  from  the  wound  he  had  received  from 
the  Swiss  soldier,  it  taxed  all  his  skill  to  parry  the 
thrusts  of  his  adversary  without  thinking  of  taking  the 
offensive  himself. 

He  found  himself  being  forced  gradually  backward 
until  finally  his  back  Was  against  the  wall. 

Encouraged  by  his  success,  the  vicomte  pursued  the 
attack  still  more  vigorously. 

The  result  was  still  in  doubt,  however,  when  a  most 
extraordinary  thing  happened. 

The  wall  behind  Raoul  suddenly  gave  way,  and  the 
room,  the  lights,  his  antagonist  all  vanished  from  his 
vision. 

He  had  fallen  violently  backward  into  a  region  of 
utter  darkness. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE    KING'S   PHYSICIAN. 

MYSTERIOUS  as  seemed  Raoul's  sudden  disappearance, 
the  explanation  was  very  simple. 

Pressed  closely  as  he  was  against  the  wall,  his  body 
had  touched  the  secret  spring  of  a  sliding  panel,  which 
had  glided  back  into  place  after  the  involuntary  transit 
of  the  chevalier. 

The  Gascon's  predicament  was  anything  but  pleasant. 
As  soon  as  he  had  recovered  from  the  shock,  he  set  him- 
self to  work  to  discover  into  what  sort  of  a  place  he  had 
been  precipitated.  He  was  in  inklike  darkness,  but  by 
groping  along  the  walls,  which  were  built  of  stone,  he 
judged  that  he  was  in  an  apartment  some  fifteen  feet 
square.  Save  the  way  by  which  he  had  entered,  outlet 
there  was  apparently  none  whatever,  and  try  as  he 
would  he  could  not  discover  the  spring  of  the  panel. 

The  place  in  aH  likelihood  had  been  arranged  by  some 
former  owner  of  the  house  as  a  hiding-place  in  time  of 
danger,  and  it  is  quite  improbable,  in  view  of  recent 
events,  that  either  the  admiral  or  any  of  his  attendants 
was  aware  of  its  existence. 

Worn  out  and  discouraged,  Raoul  finally  threw  him- 
self down  on  the  hard  floor  and  soon  fell  into  the 
dreamless  sleep  of  exhaustion. 

It  was  long  after  daybreak  when  he  awoke. 

As  soon  as  he  recovered  his  senses  and  realized  where 


104  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

he  was,  he  arose  to  a  sitting  posture  and  endeavored 
to  pierce  the  gloom  about  him. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  the  darkness  was  not  so  intense 
as  it  had  been.  And  sure  enough,  as  he  raised  his  eyes, 
far  above  his  head  glimmered  two  round  spots  of  light, 
undoubtedly  openings  into  the  outer  air. 

He  leaped  to  his  feet  and  felt  his  way  to  the  wall. 
Built  as  it  was  of  solid  masonry,  how  could  he  hope  to 
climb  up? 

Drawing  a  dagger  he  wore  in  his  belt,  and  which 
had  been  lent  to  him  by  Madame  Goujon  as  a  portion  of 
his  attire,  he  inserted  the  point  between  two  stones 
about  two  feet  from  the  ground  and  had  soon  dug  out 
sufficient  of  the  mortar  to  leave  a  resting-place  for  his 
feet. 

Clinging  to  the  joining  in  the  stonework,  he  mounted 
upon  the  tiny  platform  he  had  made,  and  proceeded  to 
dig  out  a  similar  one  a  little  farther  up. 

His  progress  was  slow  and  painful,  but  he  finally 
managed  to  reach  the  two  loopholes,  near  the  roof. 
These  he  found  to  be  the  entrances  to  a  dilapidated 
dovecot  As  he  peered  in,  two  pigeons,  startled  at  the 
intrusion,  flew  out  with  a  great  whirr  of  wings. 

Through  the  holes,  he  could  see  nothing  but  the  sky 
and  a  distant  view  of  roofs.  There  was  no  hope  here, 
for  even  if  he  should  succeed  in  enlarging  the  openings 
sufficiently  to  admit  of  the  passage  of  his  body,  he  would 
be  perched  in  mid-air,  with  no  possibility  of  reaching 
the  ground. 

He  obtained  one  meagre  advantage,  however,  by  his 
climb.  The  dovecote  contained  ten  eggs,  which  he  took 
possession  of  and  carefully  stowed  away  in  his  pockets. 
These  at  least  would  ward  off  starvation  for  a  little 
time. 


THE    KING  S   PHYSICIAN.  105 

Descending  to  the  ground,  he  instituted  another  fruit- 
less search  for  the  spring.  He  had  but  one  hope  now, 
and  that  was  that  Beppa  would  return  and  find  some 
means  to  release  him. 

Slowly  the  hours  dragged  out  their  weary  length. 
That  day  passed  and  the  second  was  near  its  close,  when 
Raoul  was  startled  from  his  gloomy  reflections  by  a 
slight  scratching  sound  just  opposite  where  he  was  sit- 
ting, and  in  another  moment  the  panel  slid  aside,  letting 
in  a  flood  of  light  which  almost  blinded  him. 

With  a  cry  he  leaped  to  his  feet  and  rushed  toward 
the  opening. 

Beppa  had  come  at  last! 

But  it  was  not  Beppa  who  assisted  him  out  of  his 
prison. 

It  was  the  tall,  intellectual-looking  man  he  had  seen 
with  the  admiral  Saint  Bartholomew's  eve. 

"Steadily!  steadily!  my  young  friend,"  said  the 
physician  as  Raoul  staggered  into  the  room,  faint  from 
his  enforced  starvation.  "  Not  a  word!  Eat  first!" 

And,  taking  him  by  the  arm,  he  led  him  to  a  table 
on  which  were  a  cold  fowl,  bread,  and  a  bottle  of  strong 
wine. 

Not  until  he  had  devoured  a  portion  of  the  fowl  and 
drank  a  goodly  half  of  the  wine  would  his  rescuer  allow 
him  to  speak. 

Then  he  related  to  the  young  man  what  had  happened 
after  his  sudden  disappearance. 

The  vicomte,  Beppa,  and  Ambrose  Pare  himself  had 
all  tried  to  remove  the  panel,  but  were  finally  forced  to 
give  it  up  in  despair. 

Escorted  by  Beppa  and  his  friend,  the  king's  phy- 
sician, after  several  narrow  escapes,  had  succeeded  in 
reaching  the  Louvre. 


106  A   GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCONY. 

But  not  until  to-day  had  it  been  safe  for  him  to  re- 
turn  and  endeavor  to  free  Raoul  from  his  confinement, 
which  he  had  finally  succeeded  in  accomplishing. 

"And  the  King  of  Navarre?"  asked  Raoul  with 
anxiety. 

"The  king  is  safe." 

"  Does  the  massacre  still  continue?" 

Ambrose  Pare  shuddered. 

"No,  but  thousands  have  been  slaughtered.  This 
morning  King  Charles  issued  a  proclamation  making 
it  unlawful  to  rob  and  kill.  And  the  order  is  generally 
obeyed,  although  the  animosities  and  fury  of  the  popu- 
lace are  still  greatly  inflamed." 

"Surely  the  vile  work  was  not  at  the  king's  com- 
mand?" The  physician's  only  reply  was  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulders,  and  the  question  was  pressed  no  further. 

Suddenly  Raoul  started  to  his  feet. 

"Mordiou!"  he  exclaimed,  vehemently.  "I  was  to 
report  to  the  King  of  Navarre  yesterday.  I  must  to  the 
Louvre  at  once. '' 

"Gently!  gently,  young  sir,"  said  Master  Pare  with 
a  smile.  "  Henri  understands.  You  are  not  to  go  to 
the  Louvre.  I  bear  you  the  king's  commands." 

"Quick,  that  I  may  obey." 

"  You  are  to  go  to  the  Green  Dragon,  where  you  are 
to  remain  under  cover  for  three  days,  when  the  roads 
mayhap  will  be  safer  to  travel.  I  have  arranged  all 
with  Master  Beppa.  In  three  days,  you  are  to  proceed 
to  La  Rochelle  and  deliver  this  packet  with  your  own 
hands  to  the  governor.  A  horse  will  be  provided  for 
you  and  sent  to  the  stables  of  the  Green  Dragon.  And 
here  are  the  first  emoluments  of  your  new  position  as 
equerry  to  Henri  of  Navarre. " 

As  he  spoke,  he  placed  in  the  chevalier's  hand  a 


THE    KING'S   PHYSICIAN.  107 

medium-sized  package  sealed  with  the  royal  arms  amd  a 
purse  heavy  with  gold  pieces. 

"And  now,"  continued  the  physician,  "cover  your« 
self  with  this  mantle,"  and  he  pointed  to  a  cloak  which 
was  thrown  over  the  back  of  a  chair,  "  and  repair  forth- 
with to  the  Green  Dragon.  Beppa  expects  you." 

"  And  you?" 

"  I  shall  remain  here  for  a  short  time,  and  then  return 
to  the  Louvre.  It  is  not  well  that  we  should  be  seen 
in  public  together." 

Raoul  held  out  his  hand,  which  was  taken  in  a  warm 
grasp  by  the  physician,  who,  although  he  had  seen  him 
but  twice,  had  conceived  a  strong  affection  for  the  brave 
and  impetuous  young  Gascon. 

"  My  friend, "  he  said,  moved  by  a  sudden  impulse, 
"  would  you  take  a  word  of  advice  from  a  man  thrice 
your  age  in  years  and  experience?" 

"Speak!  Believe  me,  I  am  honored,  but  first  let 
me  know  to  whom  I  owe  these  good  offices. " 

The  old  man  laughed. 

"  True !  I  had  forgotten.  I  am  Ambrose  Pare,  phy- 
sician to  their  majesties  of  France." 

The  name  was  one  most  familiar  to  the  chevalier, 
who  had  often  heard  it  on  his  father's  lips,  and  he  knew 
that  he  was  in  the  presence  of  one  whom,  even  in  that 
profligate  age,  all  delighted  to  honor  for  his  virtues. 
He  was  the  physician  of  the  poor  as  well  as  of  the  rich, 
the  adviser  of  the  high  and  the  comforter  of  the  lowly. 

"  There  is  a  good  old  adage, "  continued  Master  Pare, 
"  and  even  with  the  scant  knowledge  I  have  of  you,  I 
think  I  may  say  that  there  is  no  one  I  know  to  whom  it 
will  be  of  more  advantage  than  yourself:  'Look  before 
you  leap!'  You  are  young,  intelligent,  brave,  but — and 
in  the  but  is  all  my  warning — you  don't  stop  to  think. 


loS  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

You  rush  heedlessly  in  at  portals  which  a  moment's 
reflection  would  cause  you  to  pass  by." 

The  chevalier  flushed.  He  knew  in  his  heart  that 
the  old  man  had  read  him  correctly,  but  he  had  too  lit- 
tle self-conceit — that  stumbling-block  in  many  a  good 
man's  path — to  be  offended,  and  he  received  the  advice 
in  the  spirit  in  which  it  was  offered. 

Bidding  the  fine  old  man  farewell,  he  repaired  to  the 
Green  Dragon,  which  he  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  on 
the  left-hand  side  of  the  Pont  Neuf. 

The  city  was  comparatively  quiet,  but  he  saw  on 
every  side  signs  of  the  last  two  terrible  days  in  the 
blood-stained  pavements  and  the  partially  demolished 
houses  which  had  belonged  to  those  of  the  Huguenot 
persuasion.  Almost  every  one  he  met  wore  white 
crosses  in  his  cap  or  hat,  making,  as  an  historian  of 
the  times,  in  commenting  upon  the  fact,  remarked  with 
unconscious  sarcasm,  "  a  most  pretty  effect. " 

As  has  been  said,  the  handkerchief  had  been  torn 
from  Raoul's  arm  in  his  fight  with  the  vicomte,  and 
the  cross  in  his  hat  together  with  its  clasp  had  also  dis- 
appeared. In  spite  of  his  promise  to  Gabrielle,  this 
was  not  a  cause  of  unmixed  regret  to  him,  as  the  fiery 
young  Huguenot  had  no  desire  to  sail  under  false  colors. 
The  absence  of  the  emblems  caused  many  an  angry 
glance  to  be  cast  at  him,  but  no  actual  violence  was 
offered. 

Once,  however,  he  came  near  being  involved  in  an 
altercation,  which  might  have  cost  him  dear,  had  he 
not  remembered  the  physician's  words  of  advice  just  in 
time  to  check  himself. 

As  he  was  making  his  way  through  the  Rue  de  1'Arbre 
Sec,  his  attention  was  attracted  to  the  conversation  of 
two  young  men  walking  just  behind  him. 


THE   KING'S   PHYSICIAN.  IO$ 

"It  is  true,"  said  one.  "Henri  de  Bourbon  haa 
recanted. " 

"Impossible!" 

"  Peste !  Why  not?  The  king  offered  him  his  choice : 
Death,  mass,  or  the  Bastile,  and  he  chose  the  easiest — 
mass." 

The  chevalier's  first  impulse  was  to  turn  and  give 
the  young  man  the  lie  in  his  teeth,  but  fortunately 
"  Look  before  you  leap"  flashed  across  his  mind  and  he 
refrained  in  time.  For  any  one  openly  championing 
the  cause  of  the  King  of  Navarre,  with  the  temper  of 
the  populace  such  as  it  was,,  would  undoubtedly  have 
been  slain,  in  spite  of  the  king's  edict. 

Not  for  one  moment  did  Raoul  believe  the  young 
man's  statement  was  true.  And  yet  in  this  case  his 
confidence  was  misplaced,  as  he  was  destined  to  know 
beyond  a  doubt  at  no  distant  date.  The  King  of  Na- 
rarre  had  recanted.  It  is  no  place  here  to  question  this 
act  of  him  who  was  destined  to  be  one  of  the  greatest 
kings  France  has  ever  known.  It  was  all  a  question 
Df  policy,  and,  looked  at  in  that  light,  perhaps  justified. 
At  all  events  the  recantation  was  afterward  publicly 
disavowed,  and  Henri  de  Bourbon  lived  and  died  in  the 
faith  in  which  he  was  reared  by  his  martyr  mother. 

Raoul  received  a  warm  welcome  from  Beppa  on  his 
arrival  at  the  Green  Dragon,  and  was  installed  in  the 
innkeeper's  own  private  room,  which  led  off  of  the 
chief  apartment  of  the  inn,  corresponding  to  what  is 
known  in  modern  times  as  the  cafe*. 

The  horse  had  arrived,  and  the  chevalier  at  once 
proceeded  to  make  acquaintance  with  it.  It  was  a 
magnificent  animal  of  pure  Castilian  breed.  Raoul 
stroked  its  glossy  neck,  and  the  animal,  with  a  low 
whinny,  laid  its  velvet  muzzle  against  his  cheek.  At 


110  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

once  a  friendship  was  established  between  the  two,  one 
of  those  friendships  possible  only  between  man  and 
beast  in  which  there  is  no  jealousy,  in  which  no  mis- 
understanding can  arise,  and  which  survives  undimin- 
ished  through  evil  report  and  good  report  alike. 

One  of  Raoul's  first  cares  was  to  send  to  good 
Madame  Goujon  a  sum  which  more  than  repaid  her  for 
her  kindness,  together  with  a  message  which  pretty 
Rose  valued  more  than  the  gold  pieces  themselves. 
With  a  portion  of  the  money  left  he  purchased  through 
Beppa  a  suitable  riding-suit  and  a  brace  of  pistols. 

These  matters  attended  to,  there  was  nothing  for  our 
young  equerry  to  do  save  to  possess  his  soul  in  patience, 
as  best  he  might,  in  the  haven  appointed,  until  had 
elapsed  the  three  days  exacted  by  the  King  of  Navarre, 
before  he  was  to  start  on  his  mission  to  La  Rochelle. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

AT   THE   SIGN    OF    THE   GREEN   DRAGON. 

THE  Green  Dragon  was  doing  a  thriving  business  the 
night  after  the  chevalier's  arrival,  and  Simon  Beppa, 
congratulating  his  honest  soul  upon  the  fact,  was  here, 
there,  and  everywhere  with  his  two  assistants. 

And  in  truth  the  chief  room  of  the  inn  was  a  pleasant 
place  to  lounge  in,  outside  of  the  good  cheer  to  be  ob- 
tained there. 

It  was  very  spacious,  occupying  the  whole  centre  of 
the  house.  At  one  end  was  a  monumental  fireplace, 
with  broad,  comfortable  wooden  settles  on  either  side, 
and  opposite  the  entrance,  which  led  directly  to  the 
street,  was  a  staircase  with  heavy  open  balustrades, 
leading  to  a  sort  of  wooden  balcony  or  platform  jutting 
out  over  the  Seine. 

Through  the  window  could  be  seen  a  portion  of  the 
Pont  Neuf,  then  in  an  incomplete  state,  and  the  slow- 
moving  waters  of  the  river. 

On  the  evening  in  question,  a  group  of  Bohemians, 
three  in  number,  two  girls  and  a  man,  were  attempting 
to  amuse  the  guests.  They  were  our  old  friends  of  the 
Gelosi  troupe,  who  brought  the  chevalier  in  their  van 
to  Saint  Germain. 

Pharos,  the  male  member  of  the  trio,  sat  upon  the 
ground  strumming  a  guitar,  while  the  girls,  Mirza  and 
Pippa,  sang  and  danced  graceful  Spanish  dances. 

At  a  table  near  by  were  seated  three  or  four  soldiers, 


lit  A  GENTLEMAN    FROM    GA9CONT. 

prominent  among  them,  by  his  swaggering  manner  and 
boastful  language,  being  Annibal  Goujon,  sergeant 
of  the  king's  guard  and  husband  of  pretty  Rose. 

The  worthy  sergeant  had  evidently  been  indulging  in 
quite  as  much  wine  as  was  good  for  him,  for  his  always 
rjorid  complexion  was  now  of  a  bright  scarlet  and  his 
speech  was  thick  and  guttural. 

Ever  and  anon  he  cast  an  angry  glance  at  the  Tzigani, 
whose  music  distracted  the  attention  of  his  comrades 
from  his  own  remarks,  and  Annibal,  in  his  overween- 
ing vanity,  always  desired  to  be  the  chief  figure  in 
every  scene  at  which  he  was  present. 

Finally,  annoyed  beyond  all  endurance,  he  rose  un- 
steadily from  his  seat,  and,  bringing  his  huge  fist  down 
upon  the  table  with  a  violence  that  set  the  bottles  and 
glasses  to  dancing,  he  bellowed  out : 

"  Silence,  you  gypsy  mummers !  Your  caterwauling 
turns  the  wine  sour!  A  song  to  please  Annibal  Goujon 
must  have  the  clank  of  steel  in  it!" 

And  to  punctuate  his  remarks  he  gave  his  sword-hilt 
a  resounding  slap. 

The  music  of  the  guitar  ceased,  and  the  girls  paused 
in  dismay. 

"  By  the  corns  of  Saint  Ursula,  see  that  we  have  no 
more  of  it!  If  you  want  a  song,  I'll  give  you  a  beauty. 
And,"  with  a  glare  about  him,  "  who  fails  to  join  in  the 
chorus,  I'll  slit  his  nose  with  my  dagger!"  And,  with- 
out further  ado,  he  struck  a  swashbuckler  attitude,  and 
began  to  roar  out  in  a  voice  which,  if  nothing  else,  had 
plenty  of  lung  power : 

"Here's  a  health  to  the  Duke  of  Guise 

Whose  name  makes  all  heretics  pale ; 
Whose  sword  beats  the  chaff  from  the  corn. 
So  we've  dubbed  it  the  Catholic  flail." 


AT   THE   SIGN   OF    THE   GREEK   DRAGON. 

With  a  tremendous  crashing  together  of  glasses,  bis 
fdlow-aoldiers  joined  in  the  chorus: 

"With  a  clink  and  a  clank, 
With  a  clink  and  a  clank, 
Here's  more  strength  to  the  Catholic  flail !" 

" Let  the  health  go  round!"  hiccoughed  Goujon  with 
a  drunken  flourish. 

"The  bottle  is  empty,"  replied  one  of  the  soldiers, 
reversing  the  flask  at  his  elbow  to  prove  the  truth  of 
his  words. 

**  Empty !  With  such  a  toast,  there  shall  be  no  stint 
Landlord !  Landlord !" 

"Here,  sergeant,"  replied  Simon  Beppa,  hurrying 
up,  and  looking  the  typical  aubcrgiste  in  his  twisted  apron 
and  b<mnet  de  coton. 

"  Wine!"  commanded  Goujon,  with  a  grand  air. 

"  And  the  money,  Sergeant?" 

"  Money?  Money!  He  demands  money  to  drink  the 
health  of  the  Duke  of  Guise.  Hie!  He's  a  Huguenot 
— a  heretic — hie — a " 

"I!  nothing  of  the  kind!"  exclaimed  Simon,  alarmed 
and  anxious  to  avoid  all  disturbance,  especially  over  so 
dangerous  a  subject.  "Here,  Antoine!  Pierre!  wine 
for  the  gentlemen!" 

"  May  it  choke  them !"  he  thought  resentfully  to  him- 
self, as  he  moved  away  to  see  the  order  obeyed. 

The  wine  was  brought  and,  the  anger  of  the  sergeant 
considerably  mollified  thereby,  a  long  life  to  the 
Duke  of  Guise  was  drunk  with  a  vast  amount  of  en- 
thusiasm. 

In  the  midst  of  the  revelry,  a  door,  quite  close  to  the 
table  where  the  soldiers  were  seated,  was  opened  quietly 
and  a  figure  wrapped  in  a  long  cloak  and  with  a  slouck 
6 


114  A  GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCONY. 

hat  drawn  low  down  over  the  brow  entered  the  apart- 
ment. 

After  twenty-four  hours'  confinement,  the  patience  of 
the  Chevalier  de  Puycadere  had  become  exhausted,  and 
he  had  determined  to  venture  forth  and  seek  if  possible 
some  news  of  Gabrielle  before  his  departure  for  La 
Rochelle. 

As  one  of  the  soldiers,  an  Italian  named  Griffo,  caught 
sight  of  him,  he  nudged  the  sergeant  and  whispered 
something  in  his  ear.  The  latter  rose  unsteadily  and 
with  a  full  beaker  of  wine  in  his  hand  addressed  the 
new-comer,  before  Simon  Beppa,  who  scented  danger 
at  the  unlooked-for  appearance  of  the  young  Huguenot, 
could  intervene. 

"  Come,  my  master, "  spluttered  the  sergeant.  "  Drink 
our  toast  in  a  bumper  of  good  liquor.  Here's  to  the 
Catholic  flail." 

"  And  a  speedy  downfall  to  Harry  of  Navarre,"  added 
Griffo. 

The  glass  was  held  unsteadily  and  inconveniently 
near  Raoul's  nose. 

Pretending  to  slip  in  a  pool  of  liquor  which  had  been 
spilled  upon  the  floor,  the  Gascon  struck  the  glass  with 
his  elbow  and  the  sergeant's  face  was  deluged  with  the 
contents. 

"  Hundred  thousand  devils!"  cried  Annibal  in  a  fury 
and  half  drawing  his  sword.  "  By  hilt  and  point,  but 
blood  shall  flow  for  this!" 

"Nonsense,  sergeant!"  said  Raoul,  with  a  good- 
humored  laugh,  and,  placing  his  hand  on  the  other's 
arm  to  prevent  him  carrying  out  his  intention.  "  Wine 
is  quicker  drawn  than  blood,  and,  if  spilt,  more  easily 
wiped  away.  Landlord,  bring  six  bottles  of  your  best, 
and  I  will  pay  the  reckoning. " 


AT    THE   SIGN    OF    THE   GREEN    DRAGON.  IIJ 

Beppa,  in  order  to  avoid  all  altercation,  was  only  to« 
glad  to  obey. 

"Come,  sergeant,"  added  Raoul,  still  laughing, 
"let  there  be  no  ill-will  between  us.  The  wine  is 
good." 

"  But  the  toast?"  asked  Goujon,  somewhat  appeased, 
though  still  sulky. 

Raoul  piled  his  arms  full  of  the  bottles  which  Beppa 
had  brought. 

"The  score  is  paid,"  he  said.  "Fill!  fill!  And  let 
what  toast  you  please  go  round. " 

Still  grumbling,  Goujon  with  his  load  of  bottles  re- 
turned to  his  companions ;  and  Beppa,  catching  Raoul 
by  the  arm,  drew  him  a  little  one  side. 

"  This  is  madness,  Master  Raoul, "  he  whispered  hur- 
riedly. "  Why  do  you " 

"Bah,  old  bear!"  interrupted  Raoul,  gayly.  "Did 
you  think  I  could  remain  immured  in  that  dull  room 
any  longer?" 

But  before  the  good  landlord  could  reply  the  door 
leading  to  the  street  was  thrown  open,  and  a  party  of 
three  or  four  gentlemen  entered  the  room.  They  were 
all  young,  dressed  with  the  utmost  magnificence,  and 
attended  by  a  retinue  of  pages  attired  in  the  liveries  of 
noble  houses. 

Beppa  gave  them  one  quick,  frightened  look  and 
drew  Raoul  away  with  but  little  ceremony. 

"Draw  your  hat  down  on  your  brows,  Master 
Raoul,"  he  implored,  "and  put  your  cloak  well  about 
you,  for  these  are  wild  gallants  of  the  court,  who  are 
as  full  of  insolence  as,  in  general,  they  are  full  of 
wine. " 

Meanwhile  the  young  nobles  had  advanced  well  into 
the  apartment,  preceded  by  their  pages,  who  drove  th« 


Il6  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

other  occupants  from  their  benches  and  tables  with 
buffets  and  strokes  of  their  riding-whips. 

"Here,  Simon!  Simon  Beppa!"  cried  one  handsome 
young  fellow,  who  seemed  to  be  the  leader  of  the  party. 
"  Sweep  your  place  clear  of  this  canaille  !  Throw  them 
outside  the  door. " 

"  Or  into  the  river, "  interposed  another. 

"  Or  anywhere  so  that  they  remove  themselves  from 
our  vicinity."  And  the  Duke  de  Bassompierre,  for  the 
speaker  was  that  dissolute  young  nobleman,  caught  up 
an  essence  bottle  of  gold  which  was  suspended  by  a 
jewelled  chain  from  his  belt,  and  inhaled  it  as  if  the 
atmosphere  were  poison  to  him. 

"Ma  foi,  Lemours,"  he  continued,  addressing  one  of 
his  friends.  "  This  place  is  tainted  with  the  odor  of 
rascality.  And  no  wonder,  for  I  think  I  see  that  scoun- 
drel Goujon  yonder. " 

The  chevalier  was  leaning  nonchalantly  against  the 
fireplace,  half-hidden  in  its  shadow.  Since  the  duke's 
first  words  he  had  been  puzzling  his  brains  to  remem- 
ber where  he  had  heard  that  voice  before ;  and  now  it 
all  flashed  across  him.  This  haughty  young  fellow  was 
the  one  he  had  heard  talking  to  the  Vicomte  de  Vrissac 
at  Saint  Germain,  when  he  himself  lay  hidden  in  the 
gypsies'  van. 

As  Sergeant  Goujon  heard  his  name  pronounced  by 
the  duke,  coupled  though  it  was  with  anything  but  a 
complimentary  epithet,  he  staggered  forward,  hat  in 
hand,  bowing  most  obsequiously. 

"At  your  grace's  service,"  he  began,  but  was  cut 
short  by  the  duke's  saying  to  his  companions:  "A 
brave  fellow  this — a  very  brave  fellow ;  at  firing  from 
a  window,  or  killing  his  man  from  behind  the  shadow 
of  a  bulkhead." 


AT   THE   SIGN   OF   THE   GREEN   DRAGON.  117 

Poor  Gou jon's  face,  which  had  been  wreathed  in 
smiles  at  the  first  words,  fell  woefully  at  the  uncompli- 
mentary conclusion. 

He  was  so  confused  that  amidst  the  general  laughter 
he  tripped  over  his  sword  and  only  with  difficulty  re- 
covered himself. 

"  Do  you  doubt  my  courage,  monseigneur?"  he  asked, 
attempting  to  brave  it  out,  although  his  face  was  as  red 
as  a  poppy. 

"Not  I!"  replied  the  duke  with  careless  contempt. 
"  I  knew  you  for  a  bragging  coward  long  ago.  But 
here!"  And  motioning  him  to  follow,  he  led  the  way 
a  little  apart  from  the  others,  and  pausing  as  it  chanced 
not  three  steps  from  where  Raoul  was  standing  in  the 
shadow,  so  that  each  word  of  the  conversation  that  en- 
sued was  distinctly  audible  to  the  involuntary  eaves- 
dropper. 

"Well,  my  prince  of  go-betweens,  old  Sir  Pandarus," 
began  De  Bassompierre,  still  daintily  inhaling  the 
essence  of  his  vinaigrette,  "is  the  girl  amenable  to 
reason?" 

"The  girl  is  an  ill-conditioned  wench,"  replied  Gou- 
jon.  "  She  stands  upon  her  honor." 

"Honor!"  laughed  the  duke.  "The  honor  of  a 
Bohemian !  Let  her  give  me  its  weight  in  gold  pieces, 
and  the  bargain's  concluded." 

"  I — I  have  told  monseigneur,  that  she  will  make  no 
terms." 

"Then  we  will  try  what  force  can  do.  Chut!  She 
is  there!"  And  he  nodded  toward  where  the  little  band 
of  Tzigani  were  gathering  up  their  paraphernalia  and 
preparing  to  depart. 

As  the  eyes  of  the  young  duke  fell  upon  the  dark 
beauty  of  Mirza,  an  expression  crossed  his  handsome 


fig  A  GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

countenance  which  was  by  no  means  pleasant  to  con- 
template. 

"They  are  marvellously  pretty,  those  children  of 
Satan,"  he  murmured,  "and  this  witch  hath  sorcery  in 
her  eyes  to  have  enthralled  me  so. " 

"Sorcery,"  returned  Goujon,  with  a  superstitious 
shudder.  "Were  I  in  monseigneur's  place  I  would 
exorcise  the  devil  by  means  of  a  tall  gibbet  or  faggot 
and  tar  barrel,  on  the  Place  de  Greve." 

"You  are  a  fool  and  speak  according  to  your  folly," 
said  the  duke  impatiently.  And  then  he  added  in  a 
lower  tone,  with  a  quick  glance  about  him,  "Have 
you  any  of  your  men  here?" 

"  Griffo  and  Mironton — lads  of  steel !  lads  of  steel !" 

"Carry  the  girl  away  to  the  prison  of  the  Grand 
Chatelet!"  was  the  brief  command. 

Goujon  started. 

"  But  upon  what  plea?"  he  asked,  hesitatingly. 

"My  pleasure!"  retorted  De  Bassompierre,  haughtily. 
"  These  wandering  children  of  Pharaoh  are  beneath  the 
law.  /  am  above  it.  To  the  Chatelet  with  the  gypsy, 
and  I  will  meet  you  there." 

As  he  spoke,  evidently  thinking  that  no  answer  was 
necessary  or  even  possible,  he  turned  and  sauntered 
back  with  negligent  grace  to  his  friends. 

The  sergeant  joined  his  two  fellow-soldiers,  and  after 
a  hurried  consultation,  the  three  approached  the  gypsies, 
who  were  now  quite  ready  to  depart. 

Although  the  chevalier  was  not  wholly  unaware  of 
the  license  allowed  the  young  noblemen  of  the  time, 
he  was  both  shocked  and  indignant  at  the  summary 
commands  given  to  Goujon,  especially  as  Mirza,  the 
girl  in  question,  was  one  to  whom  he  was  under  obliga- 
tions. He  was  quite  resolved  to  frustrate  the  attempt, 


AT    THE   SIGN    OF    THE    GREEN    DRAGON.  119 

but  determined  to  await  the  progress  of  events  before 
making  any  move. 

"Well,  Paul,  mon  ami,"  exclaimed  Count  Lemours, 
as  the  duke  rejoined  his  companions,  "  you  are  neglect- 
ing your  friends,  especially  your  best  friend,  the 
bottle." 

De  Bassompierre  leaned  his  hand  lightly  on  the 
speaker's  shoulder,  and  whispered  a  few  words  in  his 
ear. 

"What!  Mirza  the  Tzigana!"  exclaimed  Lemours, 
looking  up  with  a  laugh.  "  Mort  de  ma  vie !  Tame 
that  wild  bird!" 

"  My  gloves  against  your  riding-whip,  Lemours,"  said 
one  of 'the  other  young  noblemen,  "the  duke  is  tired  of 
the  bird  before  the  bird  tires  of  its  cage. " 

"  The  duke  is  a  conqueror  who  aims  at  universal  con- 
quest from  the  court  to  the  cabaret.  To  Paul  the 
Irresistible!" 

"To  Paul  the  Irresistible!" 

The  pages  filled  the  glasses — but,  before  the  toast 
could  be  drunk,  a  wild  shriek  ran  through  the  room, 
and  Mirza,  pale  with  terror,  rushed  toward  them,  fol- 
lowed unsteadily  by  the  sergeant,  whose  face  showed 
signs  of  having  come  in  contact  with  the  pretty  gypsy's 
nails. 

At  the  same  time  the  two  soldiers,  Griffo  and  Miron- 
ton,  seized  Pharos,  the  male  member  of  the  Tzigani,  to 
prevent  him  going  to  the  rescue. 

The  girl  paused  before  the  group  of  noblemen. 

"  In  charity,  gentlemen,  protect  me  from  this  ruffian," 
she  panted,  her  hands  stretched  out  in  supplication. 

But,  alas!  there  was  nothing  to  be  expected  here. 
Her  appeal  was  answered  by  a  burst  of  laughter. 

"Why,   this  is  honest   Sergeant   Goujon,"  said  the 


I2O  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCOMY. 

duke,  "  the  favorite  alike  of  Mars  and  Venus.  It  is  he 
who  will  protect  you,  my  pretty  flower  of  Egypt." 

As  he  spoke,  he  attempted  to  throw  his  arm  about 
her  waist,  but  Mirza,  more  terrified  now  than  ever, 
managed  to  elude  his  grasp. 

She  turned  distractedly  from  one  to  the  other,  but 
only  to  meet  with  renewed  laughter  and  jests  at  her 
frantic  entreaties  of  protection  from  Goujon,  who  had 
again  approached  to  seize  her. 

"  A  mountebank !" 

"A  street  dancer!" 

"A  Bohemian!" 

"  But  a  woman !"  cried  a  clear,  ringing  voice.  And 
Raoul  de  Puycadere  darted  forward,  and  seizing  Goujon 
by  the  shoulder  hurled  him  violently  aside. 

The  gypsy,  recognizing  him,  crouched  at  his  feet  and 
grasped  his  cloak,  imploring  him  not  to  leave  her. 

Then,  as  the  astounded  and  angry  young  noblemen 
made  a  movement  to  advance  upon  him,  the  Gascon 
drew  his  sword  and  extended  it  over  the  form  of  the 
kneeling  Tzigana. 

"Back,  gentlemen!"  he  exclaimed  in  tones  of  stern 
command.  "While  under  this  guard,  not  one  of  you 
shall  harm  her!" 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A   DUKL    WITH   SWORD    AND   DAGGER. 

WHITE  and  trembling  with  rage,  the  Duke  de  Bas- 
•ampierre  faced  the  daring  interferer  with  his  lordly 
pleasure. 

"By  what  right,  my  gentleman,  do  you  meddle  in 
matters  that  concern  yon  not?"  he  demanded  with  inso- 
lent hauteur. 

"  By  the  right  which  devolves  on  every  man  to  protect 
a  woman  from  outrage,"  replied  Raoul,  calmly  and  im- 
perturbably.  "  But  who  may  you  be,  my  gentleman, 
that  you  pitch  your  voice  so  high?" 

"Paul,  Duke  de  Bassompierre, "  was  the  answer,  de- 
livered with  increased  arrogance. 

"Indeed!"  said  the  chevalier,  with  an  intensity  of 
politeness  which  was  far  more  effective  and  effectual 
than  the  other's  passion.  "  Whose  duty,  I  take  it,  is  to 
protect  and  not  to  outrage  his  Majesty's  subjects!" 

The  words  and  the  half-contemptuous,  half-pitying 
smile  which  accompanied  them  fired  the  duke's  ire  to  a 
white  heat. 

"Your  name!"  he  exclaimed,  furiously. 

Raoul 's  manner  did  not  alter  in  the  least  nor  was  his 
equanimity  apparently  at  all  disturbed,  as  he  asked: 

"For  what  purpose  do  you  desire  to  know?" 

"  I  would  know  whether  you  are  worthy  the  blade  of 
a  gentleman." 

"At  more  fitting  time  and   place,  both  name  and 


122  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

sword  shall  be  at  your  service ;  for  the  present,  it  is  my 
pleasure  to  guard  an  incognito. " 

During  the  dispute,  Mirza  had  risen  and  moved  away 
until  she  had  joined  her  companions,  Pharos  having 
managed  to  free  himself  from  the  gr,asp  of  the  soldiers, 
who  were  too  much  interested  in  the  quarrel  of  their 
superiors  to  give  him  much  attention. 

Raoul  saw  that  she  was  safe  for  the  present  at  all 
events.  He  was  about  to  turn  away  from  the  duke, 
when  he  felt  a  hand  clutch  his  cloak  and  heard  Simon 
Beppa's  voice  in  his  ear,  saying  in  a  hoarse  whisper: 

"The  Provost's  Guard  is  at  the  door!  Sheathe  your 
sword. " 

And,  to  prove  the  words,  a  trumpet  blast  rang  out  in 
the  street. 

"Au  revoir,  Monsieur  le  Due,"  said  the  chevalier, 
bowing  to  the  young  man  with  cold  politeness.  "  An- 
other time,  you  may  find  me  less  patient. " 

And  turning  partially  aside,  he  was  about  to  return 
his  sword  to  its  scabbard,  when  De  Bassompierre,  with 
a  violent  ejaculation,  sprang  forward. 

"How  now,  varlet,"  he  almost  screamed  in  his  pas- 
sion, "do  you  dare  menace  me?  By  the  mass,  I  will 
have  you  cudgelled  by  my  lackeys!" 

As  if  moved  by  a  steel  spring,  the  chevalier  wheeled 
and  faced  him. 

"Have  a  care!"  he  said,  in  a  low,  tense  tone,  that  in 
itself  was  a  warning  of  coming  danger.  But  the  duke 
was  now  beside  himself  with  fury. 

"Of  whom?"  he  demanded,  with  fiery  scorn.  "Of 
one  of  Navarre's  beggarly  troop,  doubtless,  who  has 
come  to  Paris  to  cut  a  purse  as  his  master  would  thieve 
a  crown  for  lack  of  pay  and  rations.  Be  thankful  your 
chastisement  is  no  worse!" 


A  DUEL   WITH    SWORD    AND   DAGGER.  I2J 

And,  with  a  rapid  movements,  he  drew  off  one  of  his 
embroidered  gloves  and  with  it  struck  Raoul  full  across 
the  mouth. 

As  if  by  magic,  the  whole  manner  of  the  chevalier 
underwent  an  instantaneous  change,  all  his  coolness 
vanished.  The  rich  color  mounted  hot  into  his  cheeks, 
and  his  eyes  flashed  fire  upon  his  assailant.  Grasping 
the  duke  by  the  breast  with  a  hand  of  iron,  he  hissed 
through  his  clenched  teeth : 

"  I  am  the  Chevalier  de  Puycadere,  a  Huguenot  and 
equerry  to  the  King  of  Navarre !  Your  equal,  Monsieur 
le  Due!  Unsheathe  your  weapon,  for,  were  you  the 
King  of  France  himself,  your  insolence  should  not  pass 
unpunished!" 

He  hurled  the  duke  roughly  back,  and,  dashing  his 
hat  to  the  ground,  slipped  his  cloak  from  his  shoulders. 
Then  drawing  from  his  belt  one  of  those  short,  sharp 
daggers  known  as  "  foi  de  gentilhomme, "  he  stood  on 
guard,  his  head  thrown  proudly  back,  sword  and  dag- 
ger in  hand. 

But  he  had  declared  himself  a  Huguenot,  and  swords 
of  both  soldiers  and  noblemen  flashed  in  air,  amidst  a 
clamor  of  cries : 

"  A  Huguenot !    A  Huguenot !" 

"  By  the  beard  of  Saint  Bridget,  I  knew  it!" 

"Upon  him  all!" 

Before  this  last  command  could  be  carried  into  exe- 
cution, the  duke,  who  had  unsheathed  his  sword  and 
drawn  his  dagger,  sprang  between. 

"Back!  back!  All  of  you!"  he  commanded.  "This 
quarrel's  mine.  In  such  matters,  Paul  de  Bassompierre 
needs  no  proxy !" 

The  others  fell  back,  forming  a  sort  of  half-eircl* 
about  Raoul  and  the  duke. 


1*4  A  GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCON*. 

For  a  moment  the  two  eyed  each  other;  and  then 
steel  clashed  against  steel. 

Once  more  without  the  trumpet  sounded  loud  and 
clear. 

"Heaven  be  praised!"  ejaculated  Simon  Beppa. 
"The  Provost's  Guard!" 

But  before  he  could  reach  the  door,  he  was  stopped 
abruptly  by  Count  Lemours,  who  exclaimed : 

"It  is  a  fair  duel.  Would  these  canaille  interrupt 
gentlemen?  Bolt  the  door,  some  of  you!" 

The  order  was  obeyed,  but  not  an  instant  too  soon. 
For  no  quicker  were  the  heavy  bolts  shot  into  place, 
than  there  came  a  tremendous  pounding  upon  the  pan- 
els of  the  door,  and  the  voice  of  the  Provost  was  heard 
demanding  entrance  in  the  king's  name. 

No  one  paid  any  attention,  however.  All  were  too 
intent  upon  the  fight  going  on  before  their  eyes. 

Neither  of  the  antagonists  had  yet  the  advantage,  in 
that  most  picturesque  of  all  the  many  fashions  of  the 
duello— with  sword  and  poniard — where  the  poniard 
held  in  the  left  hand  is  used  to  protect  the  breast  and 
parry  sword-thrusts.  The  chevalier  was  unquestion- 
ably the  best  swordsman  of  the  two  and  more  than  once 
he  could  have  pierced  the  heart  of  his  adversary.  But 
he  had  no  wish  to  kill  the  hot-headed  young  fellow. 
His  only  desire  was  to  wound  him  slightly  and  give  him 
a  lesson  he  would  not  forget. 

This  was  not  the  case  with  the  duke,  however.  He 
thrust  and  cut  with  the  greatest  fury. 

Suddenly,  in  one  of  these  thrusts,  the  chevalier,  by  a 
skilful  turn  of  the  wrist,  twisted  the  sword  from  the 
young  man's  hand  and  it  fell  clattering  upon  the  floor. 

With  a  cry  of  ungovernable  rage,  the  duke  snatched 
at  tip  and  hurled  himself  again  upon  his  adversary. 


A   DUEL    WITH    SWORD    AND    DAGGER.  125 

The  chevalier,  who  was  now  entirely  cool,  found  no 
difficulty  in  parrying  the  thrust. with  his  own  sword, 
but  the  onslaught  of  the  duke  was  so  furious  that  the 
latter  found  it  impossible  to  stop  his  impetus  and  he 
dashed  himself  against  the  chevalier,  literally  impaling 
himself  upon  the  dagger  which  Raoul  was  holding  point 
outward  to  protect  his  breast. 

With  a  loud  cry  De  Bassompierre  staggered  and  fell, 
measuring  his  full  length  upon  the  ground. 

Count  Lemours  rushed  forward  and  raised  the  head 
upon  his  knee. 

In  another  moment  he  looked  up  and  muttered 
brokenly : 

"He  is  dead!" 

Dead !  Raoul  stood  as  if  thunderstruck,  and,  with  a 
sudden  revulsion  of  feeling,  a  great  wave  of  pity  stole 
over  him  for  the  young  man  thus  cut  off  in  the  prime 
of  life  by  an  accident,  for  accident  it  surely  was. 

Another  blare  of  trumpets  and  a  still  louder  pound- 
ing upon  the  door ! 

Raoul  was  roused  from  his  sad  revery  by  Mirza,  who 
pulled  him  by  the  sleeve  and  pointed  toward  the  win- 
dow, whispering: 

"  Fly,  chevalier,  or  you  are  lost.  The  guard  are  sur- 
rounding the  house.  There  is  only  one  way.  The  river!" 

"  A  choice  between  fire  and  water !  Mordiou !  here 
goes  for  the  water." 

Hurriedly  sheathing  his  sword,  he  snatched  up  his 
hat  and  ran  lightly  up  the  wooden  staircase  and  out 
upon  the  balcony,  just  as  Sergeant  Goujon  lifted  the 
bar  and  admitted  the  soldiers  of  the  guard,  screaming 
to  them  as  they  poured  in : 

"  The  Duke  de  Bassompierre  is  killed !  There  is  the 
assassin!" 


126  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

The  soldiers  raised  their  muskets  to  fire  upon  the 
figure  on  the  balcony,  but  Count  Lemours,  flinging 
himself  between,  thundered  out : 

"  No,  the  duel  was  a  fair  one. " 

"Mille  tonnerres!  Would  you  save  a  heretic?" 
shrieked  Goujon.  "  Death  to  the  Huguenot!" 

And  snatching  an  arquebuse  from  one  of  the  soldiers, 
he  levelled  it  and  fired. 

Raoul  turned,  lifted  his  hat,  from  which  the  bullet 
had  cut  the  feather,  waved  it  defiantly,  and  leaped  over 
the  low  parapet,  plunging  into  the  water  below. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

A    PORT    IN    A   STORM. 

THE  chevalier  was  an  admirable  swimmer,  and, 
although  considerably  encumbered  by  his  sword,  which 
he  refused  to  cast  aside,  he  succeeded  in  reaching  the 
Pont  Neuf,  and  clambering  up  out  of  the  water. 

The  bridge  was  only  partially  finished,  but  still  pass- 
able for  foot-passengers,  and  all  about  were  strewn 
stones  and  lumber  left  by  the  workmen. 

It  was  now  quite  dark,  and  the  moon,  which  was  near 
its  full,  had  not  yet  risen. 

Raoul  was  as  wet  and  weary  as  a  hunted  rat,  and  he 
knew  that  there  would  be  a  tremendous  hue  and  cry 
and  that  the  chase  would  be  a  hot  one.  He  had  killed 
the  Duke  de  Bassompierre,  the  owner  of  a  great  name 
and  a  powerful  one,  and,  moreover,  he  himself  was  a 
Huguenot. 

He  looked  about  him  and  found  that  he  was  in  about 
the  middle  of  the  bridge.  Perhaps  this  would  be  as 
good  a  place  as  any  to  hide  in  for  the  present.  So, 
wringing  the  water  from  his  clothes  as  best  he  could, 
he  crawled  into  a  narrow  opening  between  two  stones, 
just  beneath  a  recently  completed  parapet. 

From  his  hiding-place  he  could  hear  shouts  and  see 
the  flashing  of  torches  along  the  quay.  Now  and  then 
hurrying  footsteps  resounded  over  the  bridge. 

Suddenly,  he  was  startled  by  the  sound  of  voices  just 
over  his  head.  Two  men  had  paused  beside  the  para- 
pet, and  the  fugitive  soon  discovered  from  their  conver- 


A   GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCOHY. 

sation  that  they  were  the  soldiers  who  had  been  with 
the  sergeant  at  the  Green  Dragon. 

"  He  can't  escape!"  said  one. 

"No,  probably  not,"  replied  the  other,  with  a  slight 
Italian  accent ;  "  but  he  may  let  himself  float  down  with 
the  tide  and  land  farther  on." 

"  Impossible !  The  watch  is  out,  and  the  banks  of  the 
river  are  alive  with  torches.  Hear  them !"  as  the  sound 
of  shouts  and  cries  was  borne  on  the  night  air.  "  By 
the  mass !  to  hunt  a  heretic  is  rare  sport. " 

"  This  particular  heretic  is  a  devil  incarnate.  By  hilt 
and  point!  as  the  sergeant  says,  how  he  managed  his 
rapier!  Sa!  sa!  sa!  And  pouf!  pouf!  It  makes  my 
blood  run  cold  to  think  of  it. " 

"  Ha!  ha!     Not  so  cold  as  that  of  the  duke." 

"The  duke  was  a  lad  of  mettle,  a  bully-boy,  a  night- 
roamer,  who  loved  a  lass  and  a  glass." 

"Pardi!  He's  gone.  May  the  saints  rest  his  soul! 
and  many  a  gold  piece  goes  with  him!  Griffo,  here's 
some  good  Malvoisin  in  this  flask.  Let's  drink  to  the 
confusion  of  all  heretics,  and  especially  this  Huguenot 
equerry!" 

But  the  sentiment  was  destined  not  to  be  drunk  just 
then,  at  all  events,  for  the  colloquy  of  the  two  soldiers 
was  abruptly  interrupted. 

"With  a  clink  and  a  clank, 
With  a  clink  and  a  clank, 
Here's  more  strength  to  the  Catholic  flail  !" 

hiccoughed  a  coarse  voice  to  the  accompaniment  of 
unsteady  footsteps  and  jingling  scabbard. 

"  Here  comes  the  sergeant,"  muttered  Griffo. 

"  With  a  skin  as  full  of  wine  as  our  Huguenot's  must 
be  of  water." 


A    PORT   IN    A    STORM.  189 

Both  statements  were  true,  for  the  sergeant  came 
staggering  up  to  his  two  subordinates,  his  huge  sword 
trailing  behind  him  and  continually  getting  between 
his  legs. 

"Curse  the  sword!"  he  mumbled,  stumbling  against 
the  parapet.  "  I  can't  walk  straight  for  it.  When  our 
very  swords  turn  heretic,  there's  an  end — hie — to  the 
true  religion." 

"And  a  speedy  downfall  to  its  supporters, "  laughed 
Griffo. 

Sergeant  Goujon  pulled  himself  together  with  an 
effort,  and  with  a  desperate  attempt  at  dignity  com- 
manded : 

"Soldiers,  respect  your  superior  officer.  Where's 
the  flask  I  told  you  to  take  from  the  table  when  they  all 
— hie — ran  out  of  the  tavern?" 

"Here,  sergeant,"  replied  Griffo,  with  evident  reluc- 
tance. 

"And  yours,  Mironton?" 

"Here,  sergeant." 

"  Good,  very  good,"  and  he  took  a  flask  from  each,  to 
their  intense  disgust.  "  Always  retain  your — hie — pres- 
ence of  mind  in  face  of  an  enemy.  Now  do  you  two 
guard  the  ends  of  the  bridge,  and  the  middle  shall  be  my 
care.  If  any  attempt  to  pass,  shoot  'em  down.  Go!" 

The  disappointed  soldiers  glanced  at  each  other, 
shrugged  their  shoulders,  but  were  forced  to  obey,  and 
the  hidden  Gascon  heard  them  tramping  off  in  opposite 
directions. 

Then  came  the  sounds  of  the  popping  of  a  cork  and 
the  gurgling  of  the  liquor  down  Goujon's  ever-thirsty 
throat. 

"With  a  clink  and  a  clank, 
With  a  clink  and  a  clank—* 


130  A  GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCONY. 

"  Sleepy  as  an  owl — hie — rascally  landlord — put  laud- 
anum  in  wine " 

Down  plumped  the  brave  watchman  of  the  middle  of 
the  bridge  with  his  back  against  one  of  the  stones  be- 
tween which  his  prey  was  crouching,  and  soon  his 
heavy  snores  told  that  he  was  safe  in  the  land  of  Nod. 

Raoul  raised  his  head,  made  sure  that  the  coast  was 
clear,  and  crawled  cautiously  out  of  the  uncomfortable 
shelter. 

He  stooped  over  and  scrutinized  Goujon  attentively. 
Yes,  he  was  fast  asleep,  as  sound  as  a  church.  But 
what  was  the  chevalier  to  do?  Both  ends  of  the  bridge 
were  guarded.  There  was  little  chance  of  escape.  He 
was  caught  like  a  rat  in  a  trap. 

"More — more  wine!"  whimpered  Goujon  in  his 
sleep. 

"Peace,  you  wine-cask!"  muttered  De  Puycadere. 
And  then  a  sudden  inspiration  seized  him.  Yes,  there 
was  a  chance,  a  bare  one,  but  worth  trying  at  all  events. 
He  bent  over  the  snoring  form  and  gently  removed  the 
hat  and  cloak.  Then  he  carefully  dragged  the  uncon- 
scious sergeant  behind  a  buttress  of  the  bridge. 

Scarcely  had  he  bestowed  him  safely  out  of  sight, 
when  a  voice  cried  out  from  one  end  of  the  bridge : 

"  He  climbed  the  parapet.  I  saw  him.  This  way ! 
This  way!" 

The  chevalier  had  just  time  to  slouch  Goujon's  hat 
over  his  eyes,  hind-part  before,  so  that  the  feather  dan- 
gled over  his  face,  and  to  arrange  cloak  and  sword  in  a 
swaggering  fashion,  before  Griffo  came  running  up 
followed  by  two  other  soldiers  and  a  man  in  the  dress 
of  a  tradesman. 

"Sergeant!"  called  Griffo,  excitedly. 

"Well — hie — what  news?"  returned  Raoul,  imitating 


A    PORT    IN    A    STORM.  IJl 

Goujon's  voice  as  best  he  could,  and  lurching  forward 
as  if  in  an  advanced  stage  of  intoxication. 

"  A  citizen  swears  he  saw  the  Huguenot  climbing  one 
of  the  piers  of  the  bridge. " 

"Bah!  He's  drunk.  And  to  be  drunk— hie — after 
curfew  time  is  to  be  punishable  by  law.  Take  him  to 
the  guard-house  and  give  him — hie — the  strappado." 

The  stratagem  was  evidently  working  well.  None 
of  the  four  men  seemed  to  have  the  least  suspicion  that 
it  was  not  the  sergeant  who  stood  or  rather  staggered 
before  them.  Nevertheless  Raoul  realized  that  at  any 
moment  all  might  be  discovered.  He  could  distinctly 
hear  Goujon's  snores,  and,  moreover,  the  moon  had 
risen  and  was  flooding  the  scene  with  its  soft  light. 

"But,  sergeant,"  remonstrated  Griffo. 

" Not  a  word,"  broke  in  his  soi-disant  superior  with  a 
drunken  flourish  and  swagger.  "  Respect  your  sergeant. 
When  you've  caught  the  heretic,  bring  him — hie — be- 
fore me.  I'll  go  to  the  tavern  and  sleep."  And  he 
reeled  forward,  the  laughing  soldiers  making  ready 
way  for  him. 

"  But,  Griffo, "  he  said,  turning  with  a  sudden  lurch 
and  almost  upsetting  the  tradesman  who  was  just  be- 
hind him.  "What's  the  password?  I've — hie — forgot- 
ten it." 

"  Lorraine. " 

"  Lorraine !  hie — too  good  a  name  to  come  from  a  dry 
throat.  I'll  drink  it  in  a  bumper.  Here's  a  health  to 
the — hie — what  do  you  call  it?  With  a  clink  and  a 
clank — with  a " 

And  he  proceeded  on  his  way,  tottering  from  side  to 
side,  but  still  with  eyes  and  ears  open,  and  with  one 
hand  firmly  clinched  on  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  so  that  he 
could  draw  it  at  a  moment's  notice,  should  occasion 


I3»  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

demand.  For  he  was  determined  to  sell  his  life  dearly 
at  all  events. 

"The  sergeant  carries  his  wine  badly  to-night,"  re- 
marked Griffo  to  one  of  the  tittering  soldiers. 

"Ma  foi!"  was  the  reply,  "did  you  ever  know  the 
night  when  he  carried  it  well?" 

Back  upon  the  still  night  air  came  the  stumbling 
refrain : 

"  Here's  a  health  to  the  Duke  of  Guise, 
Here's  a  health  to  the — hie — Duke  of  Guise." 

But  the  echoes  had  not  died  before  the  words  were 
taken  up  in  still  more  drunken  tones,  which  seemed  to 
the  astounded  Griffo  to  proceed  from  beneath  his  very 
feet: 

"With  a  clink  and  a  clank, 
With  a  clink  and  a  clank 
-Here's  more  strength  to  the— hie — Catholic  flail." 

With  cries  of  surprise  and  terror  the  little  group 
started  back,  their  faces  white  in  the  moonlight. 

The  tradesman  was  the  first  to  recover  himself. 

"  There's  some  one  concealed  behind  that  buttress," 
he  exclaimed,  pointing  to  where  protruded  the  buff 
boots  of  the  sergeant. 

Griffo  darted  forward  and,  seizing  the  boots,  dragged 
into  view  the  struggling  figure  of  his  superior  officer. 

"Mort  de  ma  vie!  It's  the  sergeant  himself!"  he 
cried.  And  then,  as  it  flashed  across  him  how  thor- 
oughly he  had  been  duped,  he  screamed  at  the  top  of 
his  voice:  "And  the  Huguenot  is  escaping!  After 
him,  comrades!" 

And  away  they  all  started,  dragging  the  blinking, 
cursing  sergeant  with  them,  like  a  pack  of  hounds  in 
full  cry  after  their  quarry. 


A   PORT    IN    A    STORM.  133 

Raoul  had  not  very  much  the  start  of  them,  as  he 
had  not  dared  to  proceed  very  fast,  for  fear  of  being 
noticed,  and,  moreover,  he  had  been  stopped  at  the  end 
of  the  bridge  by  a  sentinel  demanding  the  password. 

Fortunately,  thanks  to  his  forethought,  he  was  able 
to  give  it,  but  he  had  not  gone  a  dozen  steps  from  the 
sentinel,  when  the  tumult  on  the  bridge  told  him  that 
his  ruse  had  been  discovered. 

There  was  no  time  to  1ose.  Gathering  up  his  cloak, 
he  started  at  a  rapid  pace  down  the  quay  and  dashed 
into  the  first  side  street  he  came  to. 

His  movement  however  was  observed,  as  he  soon  be- 
came aware  by  the  shouts,  not  a  great  distance  behind 
him,  of 

"  Death  to  the  Huguenot!     Death  to  the  Huguenot!" 

Turning  his  head  as  he  ran,  he  saw  that  his  pursuers 
must  number  at  least  a  score,  which  was  indeed  the  fact. 

Fortunately  for  them  and  unfortunately  for  their  prey, 
Griffo  and  his  companions  had  stumbled  upon  Count 
Lemours  and  his  friends,  who  were  still  pursuing  the 
search. 

All  thought  of  making  a  stand  at  once  vanished  from 
the  chevalier's  mind.  The  numbers  of  his  pursuers 
were  far  too  great  for  him  to  do  so  with  any  hope  of 
success. 

There  was  but  one  thing  to  be  done — to  find  some 
place  of  asylum.  But  where? 

He  darted  down  a  side  street,  doubled  and  came  back 
upon  the  quay  again.  But  the  stratagem  was  not  a 
success.  His  would-be  captors  were  still  at  his  heels, 
not  two  hundred  yards  away. 

He  found  himself  in  front  of  an  imposing  mansion, 
with  armorial  bearings  above  the  door  which  showed 
that  it  belonged  to  one  of  the  nobility. 


i$4  A  GENTLEMAN  FROM  GASCONY. 

A  light  was  burning  in  a  window  on  the  second  floor. 

The  wall  was  covered  with  ivy. 

Instantly  his  plan  was  formed.  He  would  attempt  to 
reach  the  window  and  throw  himself  upon  the  mercy  of 
the  occupant  or  occupants  of  the  room. 

At  this  juncture,  to  think  was  to  act. 

Grasping  the  ivy,  and  clinging  with  hands  and  feet, 
he  clambered  up  and  succeeded  in  reaching  the  balcony. 

Had  he  been  discovered? 

To  this  question  time  alone,  and  a  short  time  at  that, 
could  give  the  answer. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MADAME    LA    DUCHESSE    DE    BASSOMPIERRE. 

ON  the  evening  of  the  unfortunate  duel  at  the  Green 
Dragon,  there  had  taken  place  a  stormy  scene  at  the 
Hotel  de  Bassompierre,  the  participants  being  Mademoi- 
selle Gabrielle  de  Vrissac  and  her  guardians  Vicomte 
Hector  de  Vrissac  and  the  Duchess  de  Bassompierre. 

Since  the  feast  of  Saint  Bartholomew,  the  maid  of 
honor's  duties  at  the  Louvre  had  been  slight.  There 
were  no  longer  fetes  and  merrymaking.  The  King  and 
Queen  of  Navarre  were  in  retirement,  although  it  can 
well  be  imagined  that,  after  the  betrayal  of  his  party 
and  his  own  narrow  escape  from  death,  the  fertile  brain 
of  Henri  was  not  idle  in  plotting  and  planning  for  his 
own  ultimate  success. 

The  court  of  France  was  no  less  gloomy.  The  king 
thought  no  longer  of  tennis,  and  although  what  the 
queen-mother  had  called  "  the  enemies  of  himself  and 
his  kingdom"  had  been  summarily  dealt  with  and  the 
King  of  Navarre  himself  forced  to  accept  the  mass, 
Charles,  weak  and  puerile,  was  in  a  state  of  abject 
terror. 

He  feared  everybody  and  trusted  no  one,  hiding  in  his 
closet,  surrounded  by  armed  men,  bathed  in  the  per- 
spiration of  fear  and  covering  his  face  at  night,  declaring 
that  the  air  was  full  of  the  spirits  of  the  restless  dead. 

The  days  succeeding  the  massacre  had  been  terrible 
ones  for  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac,  alternating  as  she  did 


136  GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCOKV. 

between  hope  and  fear  as  to  the  fate  of  her  Huguenot 
lover. 

No  word  had  come  from  him,  but  finally  on  the  fourth 
day  her  heart  was  lightened  by  a  note  from  Queen 
Marguerite  (who,  even  in  the  midst  of  her  own  troubles 
found  time  to  think  of  her  friends),  telling  her  that  she 
had  learned  from  Ambrose  Pare  of  the  chevalier's 
safety. 

A  prayer  of  thanksgiving  went  up  from  the  young 
girl's  heart,  but  her  peace  of  mind  was  destined  to  be 
of  but  short  duration. 

Not  an  hour  after  receiving  word  from  the  queen  she 
was  summoned  to  her  aunt's  apartment,  there  to  meet 
the  frowning  face  of  her  cousin  Hector. 

There  in  the  presence  of  the  distressed  duchess,  he 
gave  a  garbled  account  of  his  meeting  with  De  Puyca- 
dere  and  produced  Gabrielle's  handkerchief,  which  the 
reader  will  remember  was  torn  from  the  chevalier's 
arm  by  the  sword  of  the  vicomte. 

"As  your  guardian,  I  demand  an  explanation,"  said 
De  Vrissac,  after  he  had  completed  his  story,  "  an  ex- 
planation as  to  how  your  handkerchief  came  into  pos- 
session of  this  beggarly  adventurer." 

Gabrielle  had  turned  cold  with  horror  at  the  account 
of  the  chevalier's  disappearance,  until  she  remembered 
that  the  queen  had  said  that  he  was  safe  the  night 
before. 

At  her  cousin's  words,  all  the  pride  of  her  race  rose 
up  within  her,  and  she  faced  the  angry  vicomte  with 
her  dainty  head  upreared  and  her  eyes  looking  fearlessly 
into  his. 

"No  adventurer!"  she  said,  "but  of  blood  equal  to 
our  own,  a  De  Puycadere,  and  equerry  to  the  King  of 
Navarre." 


MADAME   LA    DUCHESSE   DE    RASSOMPIERRE.  137 

"Add,  and  the  lover  of  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac," 
sneered  the  vicomte. 

"  That  and  more — the  man  I  love,  the  man  to  whom  I 
have  plighted  my  troth !" 

These  bold  words  brought  consternation  to  the  duch- 
ess and  a  murderous  rage  to  the  vicomte.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  felt  as  if  he  could  strike  the  girl  dead  at  his 
feet. 

Before  he  could  find  his  tongue,  the  duchess  spoke : 

"Child!  child!"  she  said,  half  indignantly,  half  sor- 
rowfully. "  Is  it  possible  that  you  love  this  man?  A 
Huguenot?  An  enemy  to  our  faith?  A  rebel  to  the 
king!" 

"Surely  you  forget,  madame,"  replied  Gabrielle 
proudly,  "  that  my  father  was  of  the  reformed  church, 
and  his  union  with  my  mother,  your  sister,  a  Catholic, 
was  a  happy  one.  Nor  is  the  Chevalier  de  Puycadere 
a  rebel,  when  he  wears  the  colors  of  the  King  of  Na- 
varre, whose  subject  alone  he  is." 

Little  as  she  witted  of  it,  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac 
had  in  these  words  struck  a  responsive  chord  in  her 
aunt's  breast.  Although  her  life  with  the  late  duke 
had  been  a  thoroughly  happy  one  and  she  had  had  both 
respect  and  a  warm  affection  for  her  husband,  the  duch- 
ess had  never  forgotten  the  gallant  young  Huguenot 
who  had  touched  so  deeply  her  maiden  heart,  nor  the 
agony  she  had  suffered  in  silence  when  she  found  her 
sister  preferred  to  herself. 

But  the  effect  upon  the  Vicomte  de  Vrissac  was  some- 
thing totally  different.  Gabrielle 's  speech  inflamed 
his  jealous  rage  into  something  akin  to  madness. 

"We  shall  see!"  he  hissed  between  his  clenched 
teeth.  "  You  are  not  your  own  mistress,  mademoiselle. 
And  your  experience  at  court,  if  the  Prince  of  Be'arn's 


Ijg  A  GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

can  be  called  a  court,  has  not  improved  you.  To-mor- 
row back  you  go  to  Vrissac,  there  to  remain  until  you 
recover  your  senses !  Bah !  you  do  well  to  recall  the 
memory  of  my  late  uncle,  who  was  the  one  stain  upon 
our  honor.  A  traitor,  a  renegade,  a " 

"Silence!"  And  the  duchess  stood  before  him  pale 
with  anger.  "Not  one  word  more,  Monsieur  le  Vi- 
comte!  Your  uncle  was  a  courteous  gentleman,  which 
his  nephew  is  not !  And  one  thing  more.  Remember 
that  I  am  also  mademoiselle's  guardian,  and,  in  arrang- 
ing her  life,  you  must  reckon  with  me.  No  more !  We 
will  discuss  this  matter  at  another  time.  Good-night, 
Monsieur  le  Vicomte." 

With  a  face  as  black  as  night  and  almost  foaming  at 
the  mouth  in  his  anger,  Monsieur  de  Vrissac  turned  on 
hi"  heel,  and,  without  parting  salutation,  flung  himself 
furiously  out  of  the  room. 

Both  the  duchess  and  Gabrielle  breathed  more  freely 
after  his  departure. 

After  a  pause,  the  duchess  turned  to  her  niece,  drew 
her  toward  her  and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead. 

"  You  little  heretic, "  she  murmured,  gently,  "  at  your 
age,  there  is  but  one  religion,  that  of  the  heart. " 

''Then  you  give  your  consent?"  asked  Gabrielle, 
eagerly. 

"  I  do  not  say  that.  But  I  will  inquire  further  con- 
cerning this  Chevalier  de  Puycadere,  and  then — we  shall 
see.  We  shall  see." 

Into  Gabrielle 's  beautiful  eyes  came  the  light  of  love 
and  hope,  that  light  that  never  was  on  land  or  sea,  and 
she  would  have  overwhelmed  her  aunt  with  her  grati- 
tude. 

But  the  latter  affectionately  cut  her  short. 

"Nay,  nay,"  she  said.     "  'Tis  too  soon.     We  shall 


MADAME   LA    DIJCHESSE   DE    BASSOMPIERRE.  139 

see.  Now  leave  me,  my  child,  for  my  heart  is  heavy, 
and  I  would  be  alone.  But  first  draw  the  curtains  and 
shut  out  the  light  from  the  streets." 

Gabrielle  obeyed,  and  as  the  heavy  curtains  screened 
the  great  window,  closing  out  the  moonlight,  the  room 
became  in  deep  shadow,  only  a  small  part  of  it  being 
dimly  lighted  by  the  silver  lamp  which  burned  before 
the  altar. 

"  Good-night,  madame, "  said  Gabrielle,  respectfully. 

She  moved  toward  the  door,  and  then  paused  and,  as 
if  influenced  by  a  sudden  impulse,  retraced  her  steps. 

"You  are  not  offended  with  me,  dear  aunt?"  she 
asked,  timidly. 

"Offended!     Dear  child!" 

The  duchess  extended  her  arms,  and  Gabrielle  in 
a  burst  of  girlish  tenderness  threw  herself  into  her 
embrace. 

"  Good-night  and  sweet  repose,  ma  tante. " 

"Repose!"  murmured  the  duchess  bitterly,  as  the 
graceful  figure  vanished  from  her  sight.  "  Repose!" 

And,  indeed,  of  late,  the  poor  woman  had  known  but 
little  of  it.  Catholic  though  she  was  and  devoted  to 
her  faith,  the  recent  scenes  that  had  disgraced  her  native 
city  and  brought  down  upon  king  and  country  the 
reprobation  of  all  Christendom,  had  horrified  and  re- 
volted her.  Although  she  knew  that  the  idea  of  the 
massacre  neither  originated  with  nor  was  encouraged 
by  the  clerical  element  in  Paris  or  elsewhere;  that  it 
was  to  be  attributed  to  that  spirit  of  bitter  hatred  and 
resentment  which  characterizes  all  races  to  a  greater  or 
less  degree,  and  that  the  Huguenots  themselves  had 
already  in  several  instances  been  guilty  of  the  massacre 
of  Catholics,  still  her  soul  was  sick  and  ashamed  within 
her. 


140  A  GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

Moreover,  she  had  another  reason  for  grief  and  anx 
iety  of  a  more  personal  nature.     Her  son,  her  only  son, 
was  exposed  to  danger,  to  more  than  usual  danger  now 
that  Riot  sat  with  the  king  upon  his  throne  and  Murder 
red-handed  stalked  the  streets. 

As  the  duchess  indulged  in  these  gloomy  reflections, 
a  commotion  rising  in  the  street  below  and  gradually 
approaching  nearer  and  nearer  was  calculated  in  no 
degree  to  allay  her  fears. 

She  listened  with  beating  heart,  and  throwing  her- 
self upon  her  knees  upon  the  velvet  cushion  in  front  of 
the  prie-dieu,  she  raised  her  eyes  imploringly  to  the 
crucifix  above  the  little  altar,  and  breathed  forth  a 
prayer  that  God  and  the  saints  would  protect  her  son. 

As  slowly  she  bowed  her  head  over  her  clasped  hands, 
the  window  curtains  were  torn  aside  and  Raoul  de  Pu- 
caydere,  exhausted  and  breathless,  staggered  into  the 
room. 

The  duchess,  absorbed  in  her  devotions,  heard  noth- 
ing, nor  did  the  chevalier  at  first  perceive  her.  He 
had  escaped  for  the  moment  the  wolves  who  were  howl- 
ing for  his  blood,  and,  perhaps,  by  climbing  the  balcony 
baffled  them  entirely. 

But  whither  had  his  fears  led  him?  The  house,  from 
all  appearances,  must  belong  to  one  of  rank  and  wealth. 

Just  then  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  kneeling  woman,  and 
he  could  not  repress  an  expression  of  surprise. 

In  bewilderment  and  alarm  the  duchess  started  to  her 
feet,  overturning  as  she  did  so  the  lamp  upon  the  altar, 
and  leaving  the  room  in  darkness  save  for  the  pale 
moonbeams  that  filtered  through  the  curtains. 

"  Who's  there?"  she  cried  hoarsely.  "  Without  there ! 
Marie!  Charlotte!" 

But  before  she  could  reach  the  door  to  summon  aid, 


MADAME    LA    DUCHESSE    DE    BASSOMPIERRE.  141 

Raoul,  guided  by  the  sound  of  her  voice,  had  thrown 
himself  before  her. 

"  Madame,  madame,  do  not  call!"  he  implored.  "In 
the  name  of  that  charity  which  is  the  blessed  preroga- 
tive of  your  sex,  do  not  call." 

The  duchess  paused,  hesitated  a  moment,  and  there 
was  no  tremor  in  her  voice  as  she  demanded  haughtily : 

"  Who  are  you  that  under  cover  of  the  night  enters 
thus  like  a  thief  into  my  chamber?  Who  are  you?" 

"One  most  unfortunate,"  was  the  sorrowful  answer. 

The  uproar  in  the  street  was  increasing,  and  Raoul 
realized  that  if  his  ascent  of  the  balcony  had  been  per- 
ceived, there  was  no  time  to  be  lost. 

"Gracious  lady,"  he  proceeded,  hurriedly,  "for  the 
very  accent  of  your  voice  proclaims  your  rank,  my  life 
is  in  your  hands." 

"Your  life!" 

"  Yes.  I  found  myself  involved,  by  no  fault  of  my 
own,  in  a  tavern  brawl,  and  by  accident  rather  than 
design,  I " 

He  hesitated.  Even  at  such  a  moment  the  brutal 
words  were  hard  to  speak,  especially  to  a  woman. 

"  Well,  sir?" 

"  I  killed  my  adversary. " 

"Killed!" 

And  involuntarily  the  duchess  retreated  a  step,  an 
action  which  was  not  lost  upon  the  over-wrought 
chevalier. 

"Ah,  madame,"  he  exclaimed  with  passionate  inten- 
sity, "  let  me  appeal  to  all  that  is  womanly  in  you.  It 
was  in  defence  of  one  of  your  own  sex,  a  wanderer,  it  is 
true,  a  Bohemian,  poor  and  defenceless — defenceless 
but  for  me.  I  rescued  her  from  insult,  from  worse  than 
insult,  and— and— I  have  told  the  rest" 


142  A    GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

He  paused.  There  was  something  in  his  accent  that 
almost  convinced  the  duchess  of  his  sincerity. 

"The  man  is  dead?"  she  said,  after  a  moment. 

"  I  left  him  on  the  tavern  floor,"  replied  Raoul.  "  He 
stirred  my  blood  beyond  the  power  of  control.  Were 
there  but  light  enough  to  see  my  face,  your  own  eyes 
could  bear  witness  to  the  coward  mark  his  glove  has 
left  upon  my  cheek." 

"He  struck  you." 

"  Aye,  and  with  words  as  injurious  as  his  blow." 

The  clamor  outside  was  now  directly  beneath  the 
window,  and  the  red  glare  of  torches  shimmered  fitfully 
upon  the  curtains. 

"They  are  there,  madame,"  murmured  Raoul,  des- 
perately, "  beneath  your  balcony.  It  is  for  you  to  give 
or  to  refuse  the  feast  of  blood." 

"  What  is  it  you  demand?"  she  asked,  abruptly. 

"  Protection !  Your  house  is  now  my  only  sanctuary, 
and  the  altar  I  would  cling  to  is  your  mercy." 

"You  plead  well." 

"  I  plead  for  life.  Ah,  madame,  bethink  you,  is  there 
no  life  dear  to  you,  that  chance  may  place  in  a  similar 
peril?  A  husband?  A  son?" 

The  duchess  started  violently.  A  son?  Heaven  for- 
bid that  Paul  should  be  in  such  danger!  And  yet  who 
could  tell?  Perhaps  the  succor  now  demanded  of  her 
by  this  stranger  her  own  son  might  one  day  stand  in 
need  of.  At  this  thought  all  hesitation  vanished. 

"No  more,  monsieur,  no  more,"  she  said  in  great 
agitation.  "I  believe  your  story.  Give  me  your 
hand. " 

And  she  led  him  toward  the  head  of  the  bed  and 
pushed  aside  the  hangings.  "  Conceal  yourself  behind 
these  curtains,  and,  when  hidden,  stir  not.  Should 


MADAME    LA    DUCHESSE   DE    BASSOMPIERRE.  143 

any,   as  you   think  they  will  do,  penetrate   into  this 
house,  they  will  credit  my  denial  and  search  no  further. " 

Raoul  raised  the  hand  he  held  to  his  lips  and  some- 
thing  suspiciously  like  a  tear  dropped  upon  it. 

"Be  of  comfort,  monsieur,"  said  the  duchess,  softly. 
"  I  pledge  my  word,  my  sacred  word,  that,  whatever  be- 
tide, you  shall  leave  this  house  in  safety.  I  swear  it !" 

And  she  stretched  out  her  hand  toward  the  white 
crucifix,  which  glimmered  ghost-like  through  the  gloom. 

Raoul  drew  the  hangings  about  him,  and  his  benefac- 
tress turned  away. 

Not  a  moment  too  soon !  Already  there  was  a  hurried 
knocking  at  the  door,  which  in  another  second  was 
thrown  open,  and  several  of  the  Provost's  Guard,  led  by 
Count  Lemours,  Sergeant  Goujon,  and  Griffo,  entered 
tumultuously. 

But  they  halted  in  confusion  and  uncovered  their 
heads,  as  the  light  of  their  torches  fell  upon  the  duch- 
ess, who  stood  confronting  them,  her  figure  drawn  t6 
its  full  height  and  her  whole  attitude  haughty  and 
commanding. 

"What  means  this  intrusion?"  she  demanded,  coldly. 
"  Ah !  you  are  the  Count  Lemours,  I  believe.  Tell  me 
by  what  right  this  drunken  rabble  have  dared  to  cross 
the  threshold  of  my  house?  Be  sure,  monsieur,  my  son 
will  exact  a  strict  account  from  him  whose  boldness 
may  have  counselled  this  intrusion." 

Lemours  advanced  a  little,  the  deepest  respect,  sym- 
pathy, and  sorrow  depicted  on  every  lineament  of  his 
countenance. 

"  Madame  la  Duchesse,"  he  said,  falteringly,  "it  is  on 
the  duke's  account  alone  that — that " 

"Speak  on,  monsieur,"  broke  in  the  duchess,  Im- 
patiently. 


144  A   GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCONY. 

"  I — I  dare  not. 

"Darenotl" 

"  I  bring  but  woeful  tidings. " 

The  duchess  advanced  close  to  the  wretched  count 
and  fixed  her  burning  eyes  upon  his,  as  if  she  would 
wrest  the  truth  from  his  very  soul.  The  delicate  old 
face  flushed  crimson,  and  then  grew  pale  and  rigid  as 
marble. 

"Woeful  tidings,"  she  gasped,  each  word  a  manifest 
effort.  "Of  whom?  My  son?  Where  is  he — why  do 
you  look  at  each  other,  and —  He  is  dead!  Do  not 
speak!  I  read  it  in  your  eyes!  My  boy  is  dead!" 

She  staggered  back,  and,  resting  against  a  table, 
clasped  her  hands  above  her  heart.  Dead !  dead !  and 
she  still  lived !  Her  eyes  wandered  fitfully  about  the 
room,  and,  as  often  happens  when  every  other  faculty 
seems  paralyzed  by  some  sudden  shock  of  grief,  each 
petty  detail  burned  itself  indelibly  upon  her  memory. 

As  her  wandering  glance  fell  upon  the  bed,  the  cur- 
tains  trembled  slightly.  She  started  as  one  awaking 
from  a  terrible  dream,  and  made  a  step  toward  the  bed, 
then  halted  abruptly. 

At  this  moment,  with  that  fatuousness  which  makes 
fools  rush  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread,  Goujon  sput- 
tered out  in  his  thick  voice : 

"  By  the  mass,  Madame  la  Duchesse,  but  'tis  your 
son's  murderer  we  seek.  May  I  never  empty  wine-flask 
again  but  I  saw  the  Calvinistic  dog  enter  by  this 
window." 

A  shudder  ran  over  the  duchess'  frame.  Her  lips 
moved,  but  no  sound  issued  forth. 

"With  these  two  eyes  I  saw  him." 

The  afflicted  woman  swayed  slightly  and  seemed 
about  to  sink  to  the  ground,  but  as  Lemours  sprang  for- 


MADAME    LA    DUCHESSE    DE    BASSOMPIERRE.  145 

ward  to  assist  her,  she  recovered  herself  and  waved 
him  back.  Here  was  no  woman  to  weep  and  wail,  but 
a  grande  dame  from  the  crown  of  her  snowy  head  to  the 
tip  of  her  dainty  foot.  The  deepest  emotion  knows  no 
voice  to  express  itself.  A  Du  Barri  shrieks  upon  the 
scaffold,  but  a  De  Rohan  dies  mute. 

"  How  was  he  killed?"  she  asked  in  hollow  tones,  ad- 
dressing Lemours.  "  By  what  base  sleight  of  hand  was 
my  boy's  life  struck  out?" 

"  Madame,  I  must  needs  speak  the  truth, "  returned 
Lemours,  gravely,  "The  duke  was  killed  in  a  fair 
duel." 

"And  the  cause?  What  was  the  cause?  Answer 
quickly,  monsieur!" 

Lemours,  with  lowered  eyes,  was  silent. 

"  Enough,  it  will  not  bear  the  telling." 

A  terrible  struggle  was  going  on  in  the  duchess' 
breast.  She  had  but  to  stretch  out  her  hand,  and  the 
man  who  killed  her  son  would  be  in  the  hands  of  jus- 
tice. Vengeance  was  knocking  at  her  heart,  but  she 
dare  not  give  it  entrance.  She  had  sworn  that,  what- 
ever betide,  the  man  who  claimed  the  asylum  of  her 
roof  should  go  thence  in  safety.  Noblesse  oblige!  A 
Bassompierre  keeps  his  word. 

"  Count  de  Lemours,"  she  said  slowly,  "  I  thank  you, 
but  must  entreat  you  to  retire  and  take  these  men  with 
you.  This  drunkard,"  with  a  contemptuous  movement 
of  her  hand  toward  Goujon,  "  this  drunkard  speaks  out 
of  the  wine  he  has  drunk.  For — for  this  time  the  as- 
sassin has  escaped.  Go,  monsieur,  go;  I  claim  the 
sanctuary  of  sorrow." 

As  slowly  and  quietly  as  they  had  entered  hurriedly 
and  tumultuously,  Lemours  and  his  companions  left  the 
room. 

10 


146  A  G1NTLEMAN   FROM   GASCONY. 

The  door  closed  softly  behind  them,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment, intense  silence  reigned  in  the  apartment. 

Then,  averting  her  head  from  the  bed  behind  the 
curtains  of  which  Raoul  was  hidden,  the  duchess  spoke : 

"  Miserable  man,  come  forth.  But  cover  your  face 
lest  meeting  you  hereafter  I  should  know  you  and  exact 
the  penalty.  I  will  keep  the  oath  I  have  sworn.  Go 
forth !  You  are  free. " 

Slowly  Raoul  emerged  from  his  hiding-place,  his 
cloak  held  before  his  face  and  his  whole  frame  shaken 
with  noiseless  sobs. 

"Let  neither  fear  nor  gratitude  betray  you,"  contin- 
ued the  duchess  in  the  same  emotionless  tones.  "  I 
have  kept  my  word,  but  if  chance  discover  you  within 
the  walls  of  Paris  after  morning  dawns,  I  stand  between 
you  and  death  no  longer. " 

Without  a  word,  Raoul,  more  miserable  than  he  had 
ever  been  in  his  life,  groped  his  way  across  the  room. 

But  before  he  could  reach  the  door,  it  was  suddenly 
opened,  and  the  white-robed  figure  of  Mademoiselle  de 
Vrissac  appeared,  holding  a  lamp  above  her  head. 

With  a  low  cry,  Raoul  dropped  his  cloak  and  invol- 
untarily sank  upon  one  knee,  almost  imagining  that  he 
was  in  the  presence  of  some  celestial  visitor. 

The  light  fell  full  upon  his  upturned  face. 

"It  is  he!"  cried  Gabrielle,  half  wonderingly,  half 
joyfully.  "  Raoul  de  Puycadere!  My  betrothed!" 

But  between  them  swept  the  stately  figure  of  the 
duchess,  stern  and  inexorable  as  Fate  itself,  and  from 
her  pallid  lips  fell  slowly,  one  by  one,  the  icy  words 
which  withered  all  the  blossoming  hopes  of  Gabrielle's 
young  heart : 

"  And  the  murderer  of  my  son  I " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

IN   FROCK    AND   COWL. 

"You  are  mad,  Master  Raoul,  you  are  mad,  thus 
to  thrust  your  head  within  the  lion's  jaws!  Here  you 
are  safe,  but  nowhere  else  in  this  accursed  city  of 
Paris!" 

The  speaker  was  Simon  Beppa,  the  landlord  of  the 
"Green  Dragon,"  and  the  person  addressed  Raoul  de 
Puycadere,  who,  in  the  dress  of  a  Cordelier  monk,  a 
brown  robe  fastened  with  a  rope  around  the  waist,  stood 
listening  with  an  obstinate  smile  about  his  lips. 

It  was  a  strange  place  the  two  men  were  in — the 
cellar  of  a  house  which  had  long  since  been  razed  to  the 
ground.  A  flight  of  crumbling  steps  led  down  to  it 
from  the  quay,  and  one  side  had  been  knocked  away  to 
give  access  to  the  river.  The  walls  were  reeking  with 
green  slime,  and  ever  and  anon  a  frightened  rat  darted 
across  the  uneven  floor  and  sped  away  into  the 
darkness. 

Yet,  such  as  it  was,  it  was  a  place  of  refuge  for  the 
hunted  Huguenot. 

After  the  terrible  revelation  which  had  been  made  to 
him  in  the  duchess'  palace,  Raoul  had  staggered  forth 
from  the  presence  of  the  woman  he  loved,  knowing 
nothing  and  caring  less  of  what  might  become  of  him. 

As  he  made  his  way  along  the  silent  quay,  more  dead 
than  alive,  his  senses  in  a  maze,  he  was  roused  from  his 


148  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

abstraction  by  a  light  touch  upon  the  arm,  and,  raising 
his  eyes,  he  saw  before  him  the  gypsy  girl,  Mirza,  at- 
tended by  her  lover,  Pharos. 

"  Monsieur,  why  are  you  here?"  she  said,  timorously. 
"  It  is  not  safe,  oh,  it  is  not  safe !  Come  with  me,  mon- 
sieur, I  implore  you." 

Raoul  looked  at  her  with  blank  eyes,  but  made  no 
reply.  He  did  not  resist,  however,  the  gentle  pressure 
of  her  hand,  but  allowed  himself  to  be  led  to  the  cellar 
by  the  river-side,  which  wretched  place  served  as  a 
temporary  abode  for  the  Tzigani. 

Once  here,  he  sank  down  upon  a  pile  of  sacks,  and, 
worn  out  by  all  he  had  passed  through  that  day,  almost 
immediately  sank  into  a  deep  and  dreamless  sleep. 

When  he  awoke,  the  morning  was  far  advanced,  and, 
refreshed  as  he  was,  his  splendid  vitality  reasserted  it- 
self, and  things  looked  by  no  means  so  dark  as  they  had 
done. 

After  all,  where  was  he  so  much  to  blame?  His  ad- 
versary had  been  killed  in  a  fair  duel,  and  entirely 
through  the  fault  of  his  own  impetuosity.  If  Gabrielle 
loved  him,  she  would  surely  forgive.  But,  one  thing 
he  was  resolved — he  would  see  her  at  all  costs  before 
leaving  for  La  Rochelle. 

There  were  still  twenty-four  hours  before  him  ere  he 
was  to  start  on  the  king's  mission.  The  packet  and  his 
little  store  of  gold,  which  had  been  sewn  into  his  doub- 
let, were  safe. 

But  how  could  he  bring  about  an  interview  with 
Gabrielle?  After  much  cogitation,  he  finally  decided 
to  take  Mirza  into  his  confidence. 

The  gypsy  girl,  excited  and  greatly  flattered,  prom- 
ised to  do  all  in  her  power,  and  would  loiter  about  the 
Hotel  de  Bassompierre  all  the  day  in  order  to  try  to 


IN    FROCK    AND   COWL.  149 

» 

obtain  a  glimpse  of  and  a  word  with  Mademoiselle  de 
Vrissac. 

Pharos  was  dispatched  to  bring  a  disguise  and  also  to 
carry  word  to  Simon  Beppa  of  the  chevalier's  safety. 

Although  it  seemed  hours  to  the  waiting  Raoul,  it 
was  really  a  very  short  time  before  the  gypsy  returned, 
bringing  with  him  the  monk's  robe,  and,  accompanied 
by  Simon  Beppa,  the  faithful. 

To  all  good  Simon's  remonstrances,  however,  but  a 
deaf  ear  was  turned  by  De  Puycadere,  who  by  this  time 
had  almost  entirely  recovered  his  native  fund  of  audac- 
ity and  good  spirits. 

"Mordiou!  you  old  croaker,"  he  said,  cutting  short 
the  innkeeper.  "  Beneath  this  cowl  I  shall  be  as  safe 
as  in  the  Chateau  de  Puycadere  itself.  See  that  the 
horse  is  in  readiness  at  daybreak  to-morrow,  but  mean- 
while I'm  my  own  master  and  see  her  I  must  and 
will." 

Simon  shook  his  head  in  despair. 

"Yes,  it's  of  no  use,"  laughed  Raoul.  "Remember 
your  youth,  good  Simon.  Were  you  never  in  love?" 

"With  a  bottle  of  Rhenish  or  a  roasted  pullet,  yes," 
growled  the  innkeeper. 

"Why,  you  old  heretic!     Have  no  fear,  I'll " 

But  he  was  interrupted  by  the  sudden  entrance  of 
Mirza,  flushed  and  eager. 

In  an  instant,  Raoul  saw  that  she  had  some  news  for 
him. 

"Hist,  monsieur,  hist!" 

"  What  is  it,  Mirza?  What  is  it?"  he  cried,  hastening 
to  the  side  of  the  panting  girl. 

"  I  have  bribed  the  gardener  of  the  Hotel  de  Bassom- 
pierre.  Here  is  the  key  of  the  water-gate." 

"  How  shall  I  thank  you !" 


I$O  A   GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCONY. 

"  But  that  is  not  all.  Madame  de  Bassompierre,  ac- 
companied by  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac,  goes  this  morn- 
ing to  the  church  of  Saint  Germain  to  attend  a  mass  for 
the  repose  of  the  soul  of — of " 

"  I  understand.     And  I  will  be  there!" 

"Monsieur!"  exclaimed  Mirza  and  Simon  simultane- 
ously. 

"The  danger,  Monsieur  le  Chevalier!" 

"The  danger!  Pouf !  I  burrow  no  longer  here  like 
a  mole  underground.  Within  an  hour,  I  shall  see  her, 
speak  to  her  perhaps!  And  then — what  matters  the 
afterward?  Mordiou!  I  will  not  look  beyond  so  great 
a  happiness!" 

"A  wilful  man  must  have  his  way,"  sighed  Beppa. 

"  Your  love  must  indeed  be  great,  monsieur,  to  risk 
so  much,"  said  Mirza,  a  little  wistfully,  wondering, 
perhaps,  if  Pharos  would  be  as  devoted  to  her. 

"For  her  I  would  risk  all!"  exclaimed  Raoul  rap- 
turously. "  My  little  Mirza,  I  shall  never  forget  your 
goodness.  But  for  you  and  your  friends,  I  might  have 
been  in  the  Chatelet  long  ere  this.  But  tell  me,  how 
may  I  reward  your  generous  aid?  I  feel  that  what  I 
would  offer  is  insufficient  to " 

He  had  taken  out  his  purse,  but  Mirza  drew  quickly 
back,  and  with  a  gesture  absolutely  queen-like  in  its 
dignity,  waved  aside  the  proffered  recompense. 

"We  are  Bohemians,  Monsieur  le  Chevalier,"  she 
said  proudly,  her  little  head  erect  and  a  slight  flush 
tinging  the  dusky  hue  of  her  cheek,  "  but  we  have  hearts 
beneath  our  frippery  and  rags.  After  what  you  have 
done  for  me,  there  is  not  one  of  the  children  of  Egypt 
but  would  peril  life  and  limb  to  do  you  service,  while 
all  would  resent  as  insult  the  mention  of  payment  or 
reward.  Pardon  me,  monsieur,  if  I  speak  strongly,  but 


IN    FROCK    AND   COWL.  151 

I  feel  strongly,  and,  though  we  do  not  worship  at  the 
same  altar,  I  will  pray  for  you  and  her." 

With  a  twinge  of  honest  shame,  the  chevalier  thrust 
his  purse  back  into  his  doublet,  and,  taking  the  little 
dark  hand,  he  raised  it  respectfully,  almost  humbly,  to 
his  lips. 

In  another  moment  he  was  gone. 

With  bent  head,  cowl  drawn  well  down  over  his  eyes 
and  his  hands  hidden  in  the  sleeves  of  his  gown,  he 
proceeded  slowly  down  the  quay,  until  he  reached  the 
Grande  Esplanade  of  the  Louvre. 

It  was  a  fete  day,  and  the  splendid  square  was 
thronged.  The  beggars  and  gypsies,  among  whom 
Raoul  recognized  Pharos  and  Ismael,  were  reaping  a 
rich  harvest. 

The  chevalier  threaded  the  maze,  the  people  making 
way  right  and  left  for  the  monk,  until  he  came  to  the 
church  of  Saint  Germain  1'Auxerrois,  upon  the  steps  of 
which  he  seated  himself  with  bowed  head,  as  if  ab- 
sorbed in  pious  meditation. 

From  the  open  door  of  the  church  came  the  melan- 
choly notes  of  the  dirge  for  the  dead,  and  the  solemn 

Sancta  Maria,  ora  pro  nobis ! 
mingled  with  the  gay 

Hola!     Zi!  za!     Hola! 

of  the  gypsy  dance,  forming  a  strange  and  bizarre  effect. 

Close  to  the  church,  at  the  right  of  where  Raoul  was 
sitting,  was  a  stone  pillar  on  a  sort  of  platform  consist- 
ing of  two  steps. 

This  pillar  was  one  of  those  from  which  proclama- 
tions were  delivered  and  then  afterward  attached. 

Suddenly  the  roll  of  a  drum  and  the  flourish  of  a 


152          A  GENTLEMAN  FROM  GASCONY. 

trumpet  broke  upon  the  air,  interrupting  the  gypsy  rev- 
els and  causing  the  dancers  to  scatter  in  disorder. 

Then  in  a  heavy  voice,  which  Raoul  recognized,  caus- 
ing him  to  draw  his  cowl  still  lower  over  his  face,  came 
the  words: 

"  Back !  Stand  back,  all  of  you !  Griffo,  drive  me  in 
a  few  of  these  rascals'  ribs  with  the  butt  end  of  your 
arquebuse,  and  do  you,  Mironton,  break  yon  fat  fellow's 
head  that  he  may  learn  modesty  and  keep  himself  in 
smaller  compass.  By  the  beard  of  Saint  Bridget,  I'll 
teach  the  varlets  wisdom !" 

The  crowd  parted,  and  in  the  pathway  thus  formed 
appeared  Sergeant  Annibal  Goujon,  accompanied  by 
half  a  score  of  soldiers,  and  followed  by  a  gayly  capari- 
soned crier  on  horseback  with  two  attendants  in  the  city 
livery. 

The  crier  rode  up  to  the  column,  and,  reining  in  his 
horse,  faced  the  people. 

"Silence,  citizens!" 

"  Hats  off!"  roared  the  sergeant,  with  a  flourish  of  his 
sword. 

In  a  twinkling  all  hats  and  caps  were  doffed,  and  the 
crier  proceeded  to  read  the  following  proclamation : 

"  Proclamation  ! —  We,  Charles,  by  the  grace  of  God,  King 
of  France,  do  hereby  order  the  payment  of  five  hundred  golden 
frowns  to  such  person  or  persons  as  shall  deliver  into  the  cus- 
tody of  the  Provost  of  this  good  city  of  Paris  the  body  of  one 
Raoul,  Chevalier  de  Puycadere,  heretic  and  assassin,  alive  or 
dead.  God  save  the  King  /" 

And  the  crier,  after  affixing  the  paper  to  the  column, 
rode  away  to  repeat  the  performance  at  the  next  street 
corner. 

Sergeant  Goujon  and  the  soldiers  followed,  the  ser- 


IN   FROCK    AND   COWL.  153 

geant's  avaricious  fingers  itching  for  the  possession  of 
the  reward. 

"Those  Huguenots  are  pestilent,"  observed  a  woman 
standing  near  Raoul. 

"The  more  the  merrier,"  replied  another.  "We'll 
dose  them  with  a  second  Bartholomew. " 

"By  holy  mass!  but  the  chevalier  must  be  of  the 
boldest  to  kill  so  great  a  seigneur." 

"  He  stabbed  him  from  behind,  Sergeant  Goujon 
says. " 

"Ay,  and  would  have  killed  many  another,  but  the 
sergeant  struck  in,  and  made  the  heretic  take  to  cold 
water. " 

"  A  brave  man,  the  sergeant!" 

"  But  a  quarrelsome.     Let's  follow  the  crier." 

"  Ay !     It's  a  rare  sport,  this  hunting  heretics." 

And  the  two  gossips  toddled  away  to  satisfy  their 
greed  for  excitement. 

Through  it  all,  the  supposed  monk  had  maintained 
his  statue-like  attitude  upon  the  church  steps,  but  now 
a  slight  noise  within  the  sacred  edifice  itself  caused  him 
cautiously  to  turn  his  head. 

The  mass  was  over. 

Half  a  dozen  retainers  in  the  Bassompierre  livery 
came  first,  and  then  a  black-robed  figure,  wearing  a 
heavy  wimple  which  concealed  her  features,  slowly  de- 
scended the  steps.  Last  came,  with  downcast  eyes,  the 
lady  of  Raoul 's  heart.  Just  as  the  sombre-robed  form 
reached  the  foot  of  the  steps,  the  voice  of  the  crier  was 
heard : 

"  Five  hundred  golden  crowns  for  the  arrest  of  Raoul, 
Chevalier  de  Puycadere,  alive  or  dead." 

The  wimple  was  thrown  back,  and  from  beneath  the 
shadow  of  his  cowl  the  chevalier  gazed  upon  the  white 


154  A   GENTLEMAN   FROM    GASCONY. 

face  of  the  duchess,  growing  sterner  and  harder  as  she 
listened. 

Her  b'ps  moved,  and  Raoul  saw  rather  than  heard  the 
words : 

"  Dead  or  alive !  Dead !  ay,  far  better  dead,  for  my 
son  shall  be  avenged. " 

The  duchess,  preceded  by  her  servants,  moved  away, 
and  the  graceful,  sad-eyed  girl,  who  followed  her,  was 
now  close  at  Raoul's  side. 

He  rose  to  his  feet,  and,  raising  his  cowl  with  one 
hand  so  as  to  show  his  face,  breathed  the  word : 

"Gabrielle!" 

"Raoul!"  And  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac,  pale  as 
marble,  paused,  her  startled  eyes  resting  upon  his  face. 

"One  word!  But  one!"  he  pleaded.  "I  must  speak 
to  you." 

But  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac,  her  hand  pressed  con- 
vulsively to  her  heart,  made  no  response. 

"  I  will  be  at  the  water  gate  of  the  Bassompierre  gar- 
dens within  half  an  hour,"  continued  Raoul,  with  rapid 
and  passionate  entreaty.  "  Will  you  meet  me,  Gabri- 
elle? Will  you?  I  must  speak  to  you.  I  must.  Do 
not  deny  me !  It  is  my  last  request,  my  last. " 

"Your  last,"  murmured  Gabrielle,  faintly. 

"Listen,"  replied  the  chevalier,  bitterly. 

And  as  if  uttering  words  of  doom,  the  voice  of  the 
crier  fell  upon  their  aching  hearts : 

"  Five  hundred  crowns  for  the  arrest  of  Raoul,  Cher- 
alier  de  Puycadere,  dead  or  alive." 

Gabrielle  shuddered. 

"You  will  meet  me,"  and  he  endeavored  to  take  her 
hand.  But  she  withdrew  it  hastily,  and  with  a  slight 
gesture  of  warning,  whispered : 

"The  duchess!" 


IK   FROCK   AND   COWL.  155 

Madame  de  Bassompierre  had  turned  and  was  ap- 
proaching them. 

Raoul  hastily  drew  his  cowl  well  over  his  face. 

"  Benedicite,  holy  father,"  said  the  duchess,  as  the 
apparent  monk  bowed  low  before  her.  "  I  would  pur- 
chase your  prayers  not  for  myself,  but,"  with  an  effort, 
"  for  my  son. " 

As  she  spoke,  she  drew  a  purse  from  a  pocket  that 
hung  at  her  girdle  and  placed  it  in  Raoul' s  hands. 

Then  taking  Gabrielle's  arm  as  if  for  support,  she 
moved  slowly  away. 

The  chevalier  watched  the  two  retreating  figures, 
hoping,  but  in  vain,  for  one  backward  glance  from  the 
blue  eyes  he  loved  so  well. 

The  purse  slipped  from  his  unresisting  fingers  and 
fell  with  a  clatter  upon  the  stone  step. 

He  was  startled  by  a  heavy  hand  falling  with  a  clap 
upon  his  back,  and  Sergeant  Goujon's  voice  rumbled 
in  his  ear: 

"Hola!  holy  father,  how  long  is  it  since  frock  and 
cowl  have  grown  so  careless  of  the  good  things  of  this 
world  as  to  leave  a  well-filled  purse  lying  idle  in  the 
streets?" 

And  he  stooped  and  picked  up  the  purse  in  question, 
jingling  the  gold  pieces  merrily. 

Realizing  his  danger  the  chevalier  attempted  to  pass 
on,  but  Goujon  caught  him  by  his  frock. 

"  Nay,  nay,  holy  father,"  he  protested,  in  a  chuckling 
tone.  "Why  such  haste?  The  hour  of  matins  is  past. 
Let  us  away  to  a  wine-shop,  and  spend  a  gold  piece  of 
the  duchess'  alms  upon  a  good  fat  capon  and  a  flagon  of 
the  best." 

"Such  carnal  pleasures  are  not  for  me,  my  son,"  re- 
turned Raoul,  assuming  the  voice  of  old  age,  and  at 


156          A  GENTLEMAN  FROM  GASCONY. 

the  same  time  disengaging  himself  from  the  sergeant's 
unwelcome  clutch. 

But  Goujon  was  not  so  easily  to  be  gotten  rid  of.  He 
made  another  grab  at  the  frock,  and  demanded  with 
swaggering  impertinence: 

"Not  for  you,  most  reverend  sir;  and  why  not, 
pray?" 

"Begone!"  exclaimed  Raoul,  impatiently,  vainly  en- 
deavoring to  pass. 

"What!  a  monk  and  refuse  good  wine!"  snickered 
his  tormentor.  "  A  monk  and  care  nothing  for  a  pair 
of  bright  eyes  and  a  neat-turned  ankle !  You  are  a  dis- 
grace to  beads  and  breviary !  You  are  a  shame  to  your 
order !" 

Raoul  shook  roughly  off  the  detaining  hand  upon  his 
shoulder.  His  anger  was  rapidly  rising,  but  he  man- 
aged to  contain  it  sufficiently  to  continue  the  use  of  the 
assumed  voice  as  he  said : 

"  You  miserable  rascal !     Let  me  pass,  or " 

"Rascal!"  interrupted  Goujon,  clapping  his  hand  to 
his  sword-hilt  with  a  vast  show  of  bravado,  but  still 
with  something  of  the  sneak  peeping  through  it  all. 
"  Rascal!  I  am  Annibal  Goujon,  sergeant  of  the  king's 
musketeers  and  terror  of  the  Huguenots !  My  soldiers 
know  me  as  the  best  friend  of  the  grave-diggers! — a 
wader  in  gore! — a  blood-drinker!  When  my  sword  is 
out,  men  turn  their  backs,  and  the  only  thing  my  enemy 
refuses  to  show  me  is  his  face!" 

And  he  plucked  at  the  cowl  as  if  to  raise  it.  The 
chevalier  stepped  back,  but  it  was  too  late.  The  ser- 
geant had  obtained  a  glimpse  of  his  face,  and  recoiled 
in  open-eyed  astonishment  and  fear. 

The  chevalier  saw  the  danger,  and  sought  too  late 
to  rectify  his  mistake. 


IN   FROCK    AND   COWL.  157 

"Go,  go,  my  son,"  he  said  quickly,  again  simulating 
the  accents  of  age.  "And  keep  the  purse.  It  may 
stay  thy  fingers  from  cutting  one. " 

"Adieu,  holy  father,"  snarled  Goujon,  still  keeping  a 
safe  distance.  "  We  shall  meet  again  where  not  even 
frock  and  cowl  shall  protect  you. " 

And  he  strode  away,  but  there  was  an  evil  glare  of 
triumph  in  his  little  ferret-like  eyes,  which,  had  Raoul 
seen,  would  have  served  as  a  further  warning  to  him. 

As  it  was,  the  chevalier  was  far  from  being  at  ease. 
Did  the  villain  suspect?  He  feared  so;  and  then  there 
was  the  reward  to  quicken  his  zeal.  Five  hundred 
crowns !  Raoul  glanced  up  at  the  paper  affixed  to  the 
column. 

"Mordiou!"  he  thought.  "His  Majesty  of  France 
values  the  poor  Huguenot  at  a  good  round  sum!" 

"  Hist!     Monsieur — I  mean,  holy  father." 

It  was  Mirza,  the  Tzigana. 

"  Have  you  seen  her?"  she  whispered. 

"  Yes.     I  shall  go  to  the  water  gate  in  half  an  hour." 

"  I  will  be  there,  monsieur,  in  case  of  danger,  and 
with  those  who  are  determined  to  avert  it. " 

Before  Raoul  could  reply,  she  was  gone. 

He  adjusted  his  gown  and  prepared  to  depart  for  the 
quay.  But,  before  he  could  take  a  step,  the  square 
seemed  as  if  by  magic  to  fill  with  people,  and  a  platoon 
of  soldiers  advanced  on  the  run. 

Behind  them,  puffing  and  blowing,  came  Sergeant 
Goujon. 

Before  the  chevalier  could  realize  what  was  about  to 
happen,  Goujon  had  run  up  the  steps  of  the  pillar,  and 
was  yelling  at  the  top  cf  his  voice : 

"Comrades!  Citizens!  And  all  good  Catholics! 
Seize  the  heretic!" 


158  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

And  he  pointed  at  Raoul,  who,  not  three  paces  away, 
had  paused  in  alarm  and  surprise. 

"The  monk!"  said  one  of  the  soldiers.  "Your  wits 
are  in  the  wine-pot,  sergeant!" 

"The  monk  is  no  monk!"   shrieked  Goujon,  striking 
the  proclamation  with  his  fist.     "  It  is  Raoul  de  Puyca 
dere,  the  Huguenot!     Five  hundred  crowns!     It   is  1 
who  have  captured  him !     Bring  him  along  with  you, 
alive  or  dead!" 

Raoul  saw  that  further  dissimulation  was  useless. 

"  It  shall  be  dead,  then !"  he  cried,  flinging  off  the 
monk's  frock  and  dashing  it  to  the  ground. 

At  the  same  time,  he  drew  the  dagger  from  his  belt. 
His  sword  he  had  unfortunately  left  in  Simon  Beppa's 
care. 

The  soldiers  made  a  rush  forward,  but,  as  they  did 
so,  one  of  the  gypsies  raised  a  whistle  to  his  lips  and 
blew  a  shrill  note.  Instantly  it  was  answered  by  a 
burst  of  music,  and  a  large  band  of  Bohemians  and 
beggars  swept  down  between  the  soldiers  and  their 
would-be  victim.  They  waved  their  batons  and  clashed 
their  tambourines  in  the  faces  of  Goujon  and  his  com- 
panions, who  were  endeavoring  to  penetrate  the  mov- 
ing hedge. 

Raoul  saw  his  opportunity  and  turned  to  fly,  only  to 
come  face  to  face  with  Count  Lemours. 

The  latter  recognized  the  Huguenot  at  once  and  flung 
himself  upon  him. 

Before  Raoul  could  extricate  himself  from  the  un- 
expected grasp,  the  soldiers  had  broken  through  the 
ranks  of  the  gypsies. 

In  another  moment  the  Huguenot,  on  whose  head 
there  was  a  price  of  five  hundred  crowns,  was  in  the 
hands  of  the  king's  guards. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

"l  EXACT    THE    PRICE   OF    BLOOD." 

THE  horror  of  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac  at  the  an- 
nouncement that  her  cousin  had  fallen  at  the  hands  of 
her  lover  can  better  be  fancied  than  described.  - 

At  one  fell  swoop  all  her  hopes  of  happiness  fell  in 
ruins.  Never  could  she  dream  of  marrying  the  man 
who  had  brought  this  grievous  sorrow  upon  her  and  her 
family. 

And  yet  she  could  not  thrust  Raoul  from  her  heart. 
She  found  herself  thinking  more  of  him  and  his  danger 
than  of  the  dead  cousin  to  whom,  in  spite  of  his  faults, 
she  had  been  sincerely  attached. 

Sudden  as  had  been  the  growth  of  the  love  which  had 
taken  possession  of  her  whole  being,  it  was  firmly  rooted 
and  could  not  be  uptorn.  If  it  were  now  impossible  for 
her  to  become  the  young  Gascon's  wife,  at  least  she 
would  live  and  die  his  widow. 

When  Raoul  appeared  suddenly  before  her  in  the 
guise  of  the  Cordelier  monk,  she  had  been  too  amazed 
and  terrified  to  collect  her  senses.  But  on  the  way 
back  to  the  Hotel  de  Bassompierre,  she  resolved,  in 
spite  of  a  feeling  of  disloyalty  to  the  stricken  woman, 
who  leaned  so  heavily  upon  her,  to  grant  his  request. 
For  the  last  time,  he  had  said.  For  the  last  time! 

So,  as  soon  as  she  could  leave  the  duchess,  she  hur- 
ried to  the  gardens,  accompanied  by  Dame  Brigitte,  to 
whom  she  had  given  a  few  hasty  words  of  explanation. 


!<Jo  A    GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

The  old  lady  was  full  of  forebodings,  but  she  was  too 
devoted  to  her  young  mistress  and  too  accustomed  to 
yield  to  her  imperious  will  to  say  her  nay. 

Ten  minutes,  twenty  minutes,  thirty  minutes  passed, 
and  still  no  sign  of  the  chevalier! 

The  sun  was  already  low  in  the  heavens,  and  the 
trees  threw  heavy  shadows  across  the  somewhat  gloomy 
garden. 

Tortured  by  anxiety  and  fear,  Gabrielle  paced  rest- 
lessly up  and  down  the  walk  which  led  from  the  house 
to  the  water-gate. 

Three-quarters  of  an  hour!    What  had  happened? 

At  last  Dame  Brigitte  ventured  to  remonstrate. 

"  If  the  duchess  should  discover  your  absence " 

Gabrielle  sighed.  Yes,  it  was  useless  to  remain 
longer.  And  yet,  she  would  give  half  her  life  to  know 
that  the  chevalier  was  in  safety. 

"You  are  right,  nurse,"  she  said,  nervously.  "I 
dare  not  linger." 

But,  before  she  could  make  a  movement  to  return  to 
the  house,  a  figure  glided  from  out  the  shadow  of  the 
trees,  and  confronted  her  in  the  rapidly  increasing  dusk. 

With  a  low  cry,  Gabrielle  started  back. 

"Do  not  be  alarmed,  gracious  lady,"  said  a  woman's 
voice.  "  It  is  only  I,  Mirza  the  gypsy." 

On  the  return  of  the  duchess  from  church,  through 
an  oversight  of  the  servants  the  gate  of  the  garden  had 
been  left  open,  which  gave  an  opportunity  for  Mirza, 
with  Pharos  and  three  or  four  of  his  companions,  to 
slip  in  and  conceal  themselves  in  order  to  be  in  readi- 
ness should  any  danger  threaten  the  chevalier. 

They  had  left  the  Grande  Esplanade  of  the  Louvre 
before  the  arrival  of  the  soldiers,  and  therefore  knew 
nothing  of  the  Huguenot's  capture. 


"l  EXACT    THE   PRICE   OF   BLOOD."  l6l 

Seeing  that  the  intruder  was  a  woman,  Mademoiselle 
de  Vrissac  recovered  her  composure. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  she  asked,  haughtily. 

Mirza  raised  her  eyes  imploringly  to  the  beautiful 
face  which  was  regarding  her  with  such  proud  ques- 
tioning. 

"Oh,  mademoiselle,"  she  said,  entreatingly,  "do  not 
repent  of  a  kindness  promised  to  one  who  braves  even 
death  itself  for  a  few  minutes'  speech  with  you." 

"  Death !  Ah,  what  miserable  cause  could  have  led 
Raoul  de  Puycadere  to  draw  sword  in  a  quarrel  that 
has  separated  us  for  ever!" 

The  Tzigana  hesitated,  and  then  she  said  sadly  and 
with  an  effort: 

"Alas!     That  miserable  cause  was  myself." 

"You!"  ejaculated  Gabrielle,  recoiling,  with  a  pang 
of  jealousy  at  her  heart. 

A  bitter  smile  crossed  Mirza's  comely  features. 

"Yes,  I,"  she  said,  with  an  intensity  of  feeling  born 
of  long  and  unjust  persecution  of  her  race.  "  I,  a  poor 
Bohemian,  a  dancer  for  money  in  the  public  streets — 
the  cause  was  no  more  than  that.  But  in  her  sore  dis- 
tress, she  claimed  his  aid;  he  saw  only  a  woman — a 
woman  outraged,  helpless,  and  alone. " 

Gabrielle's  heart  was  touched.  Moved  by  a  sudden 
impulse,  she  took  the  gypsy's  hand  in  her  own  white 
one,  and  said  with  a  gentle  humility  that  became  her 
well: 

"Forgive  me!  He  had  been  less  than  man  had  he 
refused  his  aid." 

Tears  stood  in  the  Tzigana's  dark  eyes,  and  from  that 
moment  her  devotion  was  given  to  Gabrielle  equally  as 
to  the  chevalier.  She  would  have  died  for  either  of 

them. 

II 


l62  A    GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

"  You  have  a  noble  heart,  lady,"  she  faltered.  "  Ah, 
you  can  never  know  what  it  is  to  excite  passion  that 
is  only  an  insult  and  love  that  knows  no  respect. 
You " 

But  the  words  were  cut  short  by  the  sound  of  ap- 
proaching footsteps  just  without  the  garden  wall,  and 
a  coarse  voice  trolling  out : 

"With  a  clink  and  a  clank, 
With  a  clink  and  a  clank, 
Here's  more  strength  to  the  Catholic  flail." 

And  in  another  moment  a  hand  was  placed  upon  the 
latch  of  the  gate. 

Mirza  caught  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac  by  the  arm. 

"Quick!  quick!  Retire!"  she  whispered,  excitedly. 
" It  is  not  the  chevalier!" 

Before  Gabrielle  could  recover  from  her  astonish- 
ment, she  was  pushed  within  the  shadow  of  a  buttress 
of  the  house,  where  the  frightened  Dame  Brigitte  had 
already  taken  refuge. 

The  movement  was  only  just  in  time.  The  gate 
opened  and  gave  access  to  Annibal  Goujon. 

The  worthy  sergeant,  for  a  wonder,  was  compara- 
tively sober  and  seemed  to  be  in  high  glee. 

The  Huguenot  chevalier  was  captured  at  last,  and 
Goujon  could  hear  in  anticipation  the  gold  crowns  clink- 
ing in  his  pocket. 

But  this  was  not  all.  He  had  only  to  manage  the 
duchess  properly  and  his  fortune  was  made.  She  ought 
to  prove  a  very  Pactolus  of  wealth. 

As  soon  as  he  saw  the  chevalier  safely  immured  in 
the  Grand  Chatelet,  Goujon  proceeded  with  all  haste  to 
the  Hotel  de  Bassompierre,  in  order  to  be  th*  first  to 
inform  the  duchess  of  the  fact 


"l   EXACT   THE   PRICE   OF   BLOOD."  163 

He  took  care  to  tell  no  one  of  his  intentions, 
least  of  all  his  boon  companions,  Griffo  and  Miron- 
ton.  The  mean  wretches  were  too  avaricious,  he 
reflected,  and  would  think  no  more  of  asking  for 
shares  than  Goujon  himself  would  of  calling  for  a  flask 
of  wine. 

As  we  have  seen,  the  water  gate  was  open,  and  the 
sergeant  found  no  difficulty  in  entering. 

As  he  advanced  up  the  path,  he  caught  sight  of 
Mirza,  who  with  petticoat  thrown  over  her  head  was 
attempting  to  avoid  his  observation. 

"  Stop !  Stop !"  he  cried,  hurrying  forward  as  quickly 
as  his  bulky  form  would  permit.  "  Stop  a  minute  while 
one  of  the  king's  officers  sees  what  sort  of  a  dove  it  is 
that  flies  in  the  darkness." 

Mirza,  fearing  lest  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac  should 
be  discovered,  chose  the  lesser  of  the  evils  and  ad- 
vanced to  meet  the  sergeant. 

"  Who  are  you?"  asked  the  latter. 

"A  servant  of  the  house  of  Bassompierre,"  replied 
Mirza,  with  averted  head. 

"  Good.  So  am  I  at  present,  its  most  obedient  hum- 
ble servant.  That  should  make  a  sympathy  between 
us.  By  your  voice,  you  are  young,  and  I  dare  swear 
not  ugly.  Why  so  coy?" 

And  he  laid  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder.  But,  quick 
as  a  flash,  Mirza  threw  off  his  grasp,  and  turned  and 
faced  him. 

As  Goujon  recognized  her,  he  started  back.  He  had 
already  had  one  experience  with  her  sharp  nails,  and 
had  no  desire  to  repeat  it. 

"The  devil,"  he  muttered,  "or  the  Bohemian!  It's 
the  same  thing. " 

"Do  not  stay  me,  sergeant,  let  me  pass,"  said  Mirza, 


A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

trying  to  draw  him  away,  so  that  Gabriell*  could  es- 
cape to  the  house. 

But  Goujon  had  recovered  himself.  After  all,  she 
was  only  a  woman,  and  a  very  pretty  one  at  that. 

"Pass!  Nay,  my  dear,  you  are  my  prisoner,"  he 
said,  and,  with  a  clumsy  attempt  at  gallantry,  made  * 
movement  to  pass  his  arm  about  her  waist. 

But  in  a  second  he  recoiled  in  terror,  with  a  cry  of : 

"Ah!  you  serpent!" 

For  Mirza  had  eluded  his  grasp  and  stood  before  him 
with  a  small  dagger  glittering  in  her  uplifted  hand. 

"Beware  the  serpent's  sting!"  she  threatened,  half 
laughing  at  the  sergeant's  dismay. 

"Hola!  Hola!  within  there!"  roared  Goujon  with 
all  the  strength  of  his  lungs,  his  knees  shaking  with 
fear.  "  Within  there !  Somebody!  Help  me  to  arrest 
this  sorceress !  this  witch !" 

It  was  now  the  gypsy's  turn  to  be  frightened.  The 
coward's  cries  would  arouse  the  house.  And  the  chev- 
alier might  arrive  at  any  moment. 

"Silence!  in  mercy's  sake,  silence!"  she  entreated. 
"  And  go !  Go  at  once !" 

But  Gou jon's  sharp  eyes  discovered  her  terror,  and 
he  regained  something  of  his  swaggering  courage  as 
her  alarm  increased. 

"  Not  till  I  have  you  safe  under  lock  and  key,  as  I 
have  already  your  defender,  the  Huguenot  chevalier!" 

Mirza  started. 

"The  chevalier!     It  is  false!"  she  cried. 

"By  the  corns  of  Saint  Ursula,  you'll  find  it  true. 
He's  only  a  stone's  throw  from  here,  safe  in  the  Chate- 
let  prison,   and  will  be  most  assuredly  shot   at  day- 
break." 
A  sharp  cry  broke  upon  the  still  air,  and  Mirza  caught 


"l   EXACT    THE    PRICE    OF    BLOOD."  165 

a  glimpse  of  Gabrielle,  as  she  staggered  half-fainting 
from  behind  the  buttress.  But,  in  an  instant,  a  man, 
with  a  swift,  leopard-like  bound,  dashed  forward  and 
caught  her.  It  was  Pharos,  and  he  made  a  quick  ges- 
ture of  assurance  to  Mirza,  as  he  half  led,  half  carried 
Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac  back  into  the  shadow. 

All  this  happened  so  quickly  that  Goujon,  though 
startled  by  the  cry,  had  scarcely  time  to  turn. 

He  caught  only  a  glimpse  of  something  white,  when 
Mirza  grasped  him  with  both  hands  and  whirled  him 
round  like  a  top. 

"You  miserable,  cowardly,  bragging,  good-for-noth- 
ing ruffian!"  she  exclaimed,  breathlessly,  as  she  twisted 
and  twirled  him  by  the  collar.  "  If  one  hair  of  the 
chevalier's  head  is  injured,  there  shall  be  as  many 
holes  in  your  wine-cask  of  a  body  as  there  are  knives 
in  the  girdles  of  the  men  and  women,  especially  the 
women,  of  my  tribe." 

"You're  cho — cho — choking  me!"  gasped  Goujon. 

"Which  would  be  cheating  an  honest  rope-maker," 
retorted  Mirza,  scornfully,  as  she  gave  him  a  final  twirl 
and  flung  him  from  her  with  all  her  strength. 

The  sergeant  fell  heavily  to  the  ground,  and  at  once 
emitted  a  series  of  ear-splitting  shrieks. 

The  house  was  now  alarmed.  Lights  flitted  from 
window  to  window.  In  another  moment,  the  doors 
were  flung  open,  and  the  duchess  appeared,  surrounded 
by  half  a  dozen  retainers. 

Mirza  had  fled,  but  the  light  o/  the  blazing  flambeaux 
fell  upon  the  pitiful  figure  of  the  sergeant,  who  had 
scrambled  to  his  feet,  and,  with  many  a  resounding 
oath,  was  brushing  the  dust  from  his  clothes. 

The  duchess  advanced  proudly  and  fearlessly,  fol- 
lowed by  her  servants. 


1 66  A  GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCONY. 

"Who  called  for  help  just  now?"  she  demanded. 
"Was  it  you,  fellow?" 

"  If  your  grace  will  pardon  my  insignificance,  it  was 
I,"  replied  Goujon,  bowing  with  exaggerated  humility. 

"  And  wherefore?" 

The  sight  of  the  burly  serving-men  had  restored  the 
sergeant  to  all  his  customary  bravado. 

He  puffed  out  his  breast  and  tapped  his  sword-hilt 
significantly : 

"  Six  as  truculent  ruffians,  may  it  please  your  grace 
as — well,  no  matter,  I  am  rid  of  them. " 

The  duchess'  lip  curled  with  intense  scorn,  as  she 
said,  haughtily: 

"  I  think  I  know  your  face.  You  are  the  man  they 
call  Sergeant  Goujon — one  who  is  noted  for  having  a 
killing  tongue,  but  a  quiet  sword.  You  were  one  of 
those  who  fed  upon  the  too  easy  bounty  of  my  son,  my 
unfortunate  son." 

Even  Goujon's  overweening  vanity  was  not  proof 
against  the  cutting  severity  of  these  words.  But  he 
still  managed  to  keep  a  bold  front,  and  replied,  half 
brazenly,  half  sulkily : 

"And  therefore  I  have  avenged  him." 

"You!" 

"  With  this  hand.  His  assassin  is  now  in  the  prison 
of  the  Chatelet." 

The  duchess  uttered  a  wild  cry,  a  sort  of  savage  lo 
triumphe  !  Instantaneously,  her  whole  manner  changed. 
Her  cold  hauteur  was  gone,  and  in  its  place  was  a  fran- 
tic eagerness. 

"  Raoul  de  Puycadere  a  prisoner!     Is  it  possible?" 

"  It  was  to  bring  your  grace  this  news  that  I  came 
here." 

"  You  are  sure?" 


"l   EXACT    THE   PRICE    OF    BLOOD."  167 

"Sure." 

With  blazing  eyes,  the  duchess  struck  her  hands  to- 
gether in  fierce  exultation. 

"  More  welcome  news  you  could  not  bring  a  bereaved 
mother!  In  the  Chatelet,  you  say?" 

"  In  the  Chatelet.  My  errand  done,  I  return  now  to 
mount  guard  over  him  myself." 

The  duchess  clutched  his  arm  in  a  grasp  that  made 
him  wince. 

"  As  you  value  my  favor, "  she  almost  hissed  in  her 
excitement,  her  heart  bounding  with  ferocious  joy  at 
the  thought  of  vengeance — "as  you  value  my  favor, 
guard  him  closely.  You  shall  be  rewarded,  well  re- 
warded, never  fear.  Go!  go!" 

His  object  accomplished,  Goujon  hurried  away,  his 
•big  sword  clanking  at  his  side. 

The  duchess  turned  to  the  servants. 

"Prepare  my  litter,"  she  commanded,  with  a  rapid 
and  imperious  gesture.  "  Bring  your  flambeaux  and 
swords  with  you!  I'll  to  the  Louvre  at  once!" 

She  turned,  and  was  about  to  enter  the  house,  but 
before  she  could  make  a  step,  a  white-robed  figure 
darted  out  from  the  shadows,  and  throwing  itself  on  its 
knees  before  her,  seized  her  gown. 

"Aunt,  aunt,  you  will  not  do  this  thing!  hear  mej 
I  implore  you!  Have  pity!" 

"Pity!"  retorted  the  duchess.  "And  you  speak  to 
me  of  pity!  Raoul  de  Puycadere  is  doomed!  In  defi- 
ance of  my  warning,  he  has  remained  to  outface  justice, 
and  he  shall  pay  the  penalty. " 

"  Madame !     Madame !" 

"  The  assassin  of  my  son  is  in  the  Chatelet !  I  want 
the  assassin  of  my  son!" 

"Pity!  pity!" 


1 68  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

"  My  son  does  not  want  your  pity !  He  calls  to  me, 
he  cries  aloud:  'Mother,  avenge  me!'  " 

"No!  no!" 

"  Yes,  I  hear  him !" 

"Listen!  listen!  he  does  not  cry  that!  No,  he  does 
not  say  to  you,  'Blood  for  blood!'  He  is  in  that  place 
where  only  pardon  is  recognized  for  wrong-doing,  and 
where  vengeance  disappears.  He  is  an  angel,  and  he 
says  to  you :  'Mother,  honor  me  as  an  angel,  by  charity. '" 

"Away!  You  plead  for  your  lover!  Heaven  grant 
that  my  son's  murderer  dies!  You  shall  not  filch  from 
me  his  death !" 

"  May  Heaven  refuse  to  hear  you !" 

"  May  Heaven  hear  me,  and  the  king  also!" 

And  the  duchess  stooped  and,  seizing  the  half -fainting 
girl  by  the  shoulders,  flung  her  from  her. 

"  'Tis  a  holy  vengeance !  'Tis  a  mother's  vengeance ! 
The  king  dare  not  pardon!  It  is  my  son,  mine,  that 
this  man  has  slain,  and  if  there  be  justice  in  the  king,  I 
will  exact  the  price  of  blood !  To  the  Louvre !  To  the 
Louvre!" 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

BY   GRACE   OF    GOD,    KING    OF    FRANCE. 

"  SHOW  yourself  a  man,  my  son.  A  king  should  have 
no  fears. " 

And  Catharine  de  Medicis,  the  wily  Florentine  who 
had  been  the  cause  of  so  much  woe  to  France  by  the  in- 
troduction of  the  infamous  methods  of  her  infamous 
family,  laid  her  hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  her  son, 
Charles  IX.,  that  hand  which,  beneath  its  velvet  touch, 
possessed  muscles  of  steel. 

"Fear,  mother,"  said  the  king,  shivering  beneath  the 
contact.  "  It  is  not  that,  but  I  am  weary  of  the  sight  of 
blood." 

"  From  the  blood  of  the  heretics  only  can  your  throne 
be  cemented." 

"There  is  no  more  necessity  of  that,"  and  the  king 
rose  and  commenced  nervously  to  pace  the  floor. 
"Coligny  is  dead,  and  my  brother-in-law  is  a  good 
Catholic." 

"  Idiot !"  sneered  the  queen-mother.  "  Do  you  be- 
lieve in  that?  How  long  will  his  recantation  last? 
Just  so  long  as  it  suits  his  convenience.  Would  he 
were  with  the  other  heretics  who  went  to  torment  on 
the  day  of  blessed  Saint  Bartholomew. " 

"Hush!  hush!"  said  the  king,  turning  pale,  "n« 
more  of  that!" 

"  The  most  glorious  day  of  your  rei^n. " 


A   GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCONY. 

14  The  most  infamous.  I'll  have  no  more  of  it.  Am 
I  king,  or  am  I  not?" 

The  lips  of  Catherine  de  Medicis  curved  in  a  peculiar 
smile. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  are  king,"  she  said,  slowly. 

"  But  you  would  I  were  not,"  ejaculated  Charles,  im- 
petuously. "Oh!  I  know  that  my  brother  is  your 
favorite  son,  and  you  would  gladly  see  him  reign  in 
my  place.  Well,  it  is  easy  to  accomplish  that.  The 
Italian  daggers  are  still  sharp.  The  Italian  poisons  are 
still  known  to  you. " 

The  most  accomplished  actress  of  her  day  uttered  a 
deep  sigh,  her  face  took  on  the  mask  of  injured  inno- 
cence, and  even  a  tear  twinkled  in  the  corner  of  her  eye. 

A  wave  of  remorse  swept  over  her  affectionate  if 
weak  son. 

He  threw  himself  at  her  feet. 

"  Forgive  me,  my  mother,  forgive  me. " 

Queen  Catherine  raised  him  and  pressed  him  to  her 
heart. 

"  Will  you  never  learn  to  trust  me?"  she  murmured. 
"  Will  you  never  realize  that  it  is  I  who  hold  the  crown 
firmly  upon  your  head?" 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know;  forgive  me,"  half  sobbed  her  son. 

"  And  no  more  weakness?" 

"  No  more.  You  are  my  brains,  the  brains  of  France. 
I  follow  where  you  direct. " 

"'Tiswell." 

And  she  touched  a  silver  bell,  which  rested  on  a  table 
at  her  elbow. 

A  page  answered  her  summons. 

"  The  Duchess  de  Bassompierre  awaits.     Admit  her." 

The  page  bowed  and  departed. 

"  The  Duchess  de  Bassompierre !"  said  the  king,  start- 


BY   GRACE    OF   GOD,    KING    OF    FRANCI.  171 

ing  up  with  a  look  of  alarm  upon  his  face.  "This 
means " 

"Wait  and  see!" 

The  time  of  waiting  was  not  long.  In  a  very  few 
minutes,  the  duchess  was  ushered  into  the  royal  pres- 
ence, pale  as  a  ghost  in  her  mourning  robes,  but  her  lips 
compressed  in  an  expression  of  inexorable  resolve. 

She  advanced  to  where  the  king  sat,  with  the  queen- 
mother  behind  his  chair,  and  bent  her  knee  before  her 
sovereign. 

"Rise,  madame,  rise,"  said  Charles  graciously;  "a 
De  Bassompierre's  fidelity  to  the  crown  is  known  with- 
out empty  ceremony. " 

"I  thank  your  Majesty,"  said  the  duchess,  raising 
herself  to  her  full  height  and  looking  the  king  directly 
in  the  face,  "  and  am  glad  to  hear  you  accord  the  Bas- 
sompierres  what  is  only  their  due.  As  a  faithful  sub- 
ject of  my  king,  I  am  here  to  demand  justice. " 

"Justice!" 

"  Ay,  justice !  My  son  has  been  slain.  His  murderer 
is  in  the  Chatelet.  I  ask  his  head !" 

"  In  the  Chatelet!"  repeated  the  king  in  great  agita- 
tion. "When  was  this?  I  have  heard  that  he  had 
escaped. " 

"  For  a  time  only.     To-day  he  was  arrested." 

"  The  Chevalier  de  Puycadere. " 

"  The  Chevalier  de  Puycadere.  A  Huguenot,  a  here- 
tic, a  murderer!  Justice,  sire,  justice!" 

"  The  duchess  is  right,  sire, "  said  Catherine  de  Medi- 
cis,  in  her  clear,  cold,  unim  passioned  voice,  pressing 
her  hand  lightly  on  the  shoulder  of  her  son.  "  The 
man  is  a  heretic  and  a  murderer,  and  should  suffer  the 
penalty  of  his  crimes. " 

The  king  shook  off  his  mother's  touch,  and,  with  his 


1 72  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

thin  white  fingers  twisting  convulsively,  half  rose  from 
his  seat,  and  then  sank  back  again. 

"  My  promise, "  he  murmured  weakly.    "  My  promise. " 

"Your  promise?"  repeated  the  queen-mother  ques- 
tioningly. 

"  Yes :  I  have  given  my  word  to  the  King  of  Navarre 
.hat  this  man's  life  should  be  spared." 

The  duchess  started  violently  at  these  words,  but, 
unseen  by  the  king,  Catherine  placed  her  fingers  to  her 
lips  as  a  warning  for  silence. 

"Is  that  all?"  she  said,  lightly. 

"All?"  ejaculated  Charles.  "Could  it  be  more?  Is 
not  a  king's  word  sacred?" 

"Certainly,"  returned  Catherine,  with  an  enigmatical 
smile.  "  Unless  a  king's  word  is  obtained  by  fraud." 

"What  mean  you,  madame?" 

"  Were  you  not  so  trusting,  you  would  know  that  the 
King  of  Navarre  is  even  now  plotting  for  your 
crown. " 

"  Mort  de  ma  vie !" 

"  It  is  true,  my  son,  and  all  see  it  save  you  who  are 
most  interested. " 

"  But " 

The  words  died  on  his  lips,  as  a  portiere  just  opposite 
to  where  he  was  seated  was  raised,  and  the  graceful 
form  of  his  sister,  Marguerite,  appeared. 

"Am  I  intruding?"  she  asked,  as  her  eyes  fell  in 
wonder  upon  the  stern  face  of  the  duchess. 

"No,  no.  Come  in,  Margot,"  said  the  king,  glad  of 
almost  any  interruption.  "Your  advent  is  timely." 

"  Most  timely,"  said  Catherine  de  Medicis,  bending  a 
penetrating  glance  upon  her  daughter.  "  Marguerite 
is  ever  on  the  side  of  justice." 

"Surely,  my  mother,"  replied  the  Queen  of  Navarre, 


BY  GRACE  OF  GOD,  KING  OF  FRANCE.       173 

advancing  into  the  room,  with  a  puzzled  look  upon  her 
lovely,  face. 

Before  Catherine  could  check  her,  the  duchess  had 
hastily  stepped  forward  and  extended  her  hands  in 
supplication. 

"  Then  you  will  use  your  influence  with  the  king, " 
she  cried,  "  to  grant  my  petition. " 

"Your  petition?"  said  Marguerite,  understanding  the 
situation  of  affairs  pretty  clearly. 

"  Yes,  your  Majesty.  I  am  here  to  ask  the  punish- 
ment of  my  son's  murderer." 

"  Murderer !     It  was  a  fair  duel,  madame. " 

"A  fair  duel!"  cried  the  duchess.  "A  duel  with  a 
boy  like  that!" 

"  The  King  of  Navarre  is  satisfied  that  the  Chevalier 
de  Puycadere  was  not  to  blame,  or  he  would  not  have 
asked  the  king's  clemency." 

"And  I?  Have  I  no  rights?"  began  the  duchess  pas- 
sionately, but  the  queen-mother  laid  a  restraining  hand 
upon  her  arm. 

"Be  patient!  Leave  it  to  me,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice. 

Then,  turning  to  the  king,  who  was  the  picture  of 
uneasiness,  she  remarked  quietly : 

"  Your  Majesty  will  not  refuse  this  distressed  mother 
the  just  punishment  she  exacts." 

Before  the  king  could  reply,  Marguerite  de  Valois, 
who,  whatever  her  faults  might  be,  was  ever  loyal  to 
her  friends,  and  who  was  thinking  now  of  her  favorite 
maid  of  honor,  interposed : 

"  My  brother  has  given  his  royal  word  to  my  husband 
that  the  life  of  Monsieur  de  Puycadere  should  be  spared. " 

The  queen-mother  bit  her  thin  lips  with  rage. 

"Your  husband,"  she   said,   addressing   Marguerite 


174  A   GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCONY. 

with  intense  sarcasm.  "Yes,  in  marrying  you  the 
Prince  of  Be*arn  fulfilled  one  of  those  acts  of  policy  de- 
manded for  the  interest  of  the  kingdom,  but,  my  poor 
child,  the  indifference  he  has  manifested  for  one  so 
young,  so  lovely,  and  so  fascinating  as  yourself  should 
scarce,  methinks,  be  the  spur  to  rouse  you  to  become 
his  champion." 

Marguerite  flushed  beneath  these  words  and  the  keen 
glance  which  accompanied  them,  but  not  for  one  instant 
did  she  lower  her  eyes. 

"I  have  promised  the  King  of  Navarre  my  alliance," 
she  said  proudly  and  unflinchingly,  "  and  I  will  be  faith- 
ful to  my  promise.  My  brother,  I  appeal  to  you  to 
keep  yours." 

Charles  sat  as  if  stupefied  between  the  imperative 
look  of  Catherine  and  the  supplicating  regard  of  Mar- 
guerite; while  the  Duchess  de  Bassompierre  watched 
the  trio  with  haggard  eyes  and  parted  lips,  her  one 
thought  "Vengeance!" 

But  the  struggle  was  unequal,  and  no  one  knew  it 
better  than  the  wily  queen-mother. 

"  You  do  well  to  recognize  that  your  brother  is  still 
King  of  France,"  she  said  sternly  to  her  daughter. 
"  Your  husband  is  not  king  yet,  and  Charles  IX.  owes 
no  faith  to  heretics  and  traitors.  No  more  of  this!" 
And  she  checked  with  a  commanding  gesture  the  pas- 
sionate retort  that  rose  to  Marguerite's  lips. 

Then,  stooping,  she  whispered  a  few  hurried  words 
in  the  king's  ear. 

A  spasm  of  terror  swept  across  Charles'  face. 

"No,  no,  madame,"  he  gasped,  and  he  caught  fever- 
ishly at  his  mother's  hand.  "No,  no!  Don't  desert 
me!  Anything  but  that!  I  am  indeed  lost  without 
yon," 


BY   GRACE    OF   GOD,    KING    OF    FRANCE.  175 

A  smile  of  satisfaction  played  for  a  moment  about 
Catherine's  cruel  lips. 

"Then  you  will  do  your  duty?"  she  asked  calmly, 
knowing  that  the  victory  was  won. 

"  Act  without  me!  Do  as  you  please!"  was  the  weak 
and  weary  response. 

"  And  you  will  not  interfere?" 

"No!  no!" 

"  On  your  kingly  honor?" 

"  On  my  kingly  honor. "  And  there  was  just  a  touch 
of  self-contempt  in  the  words. 

"You  hear,  your  grace,"  said  Catharine,  addressing 
the  duchess.  "  Your  plea  is  granted.  Your  son's  mur- 
derer dies  at  daybreak. " 

A  low  cry  of  fierce  delight  broke  from  Madame  de 
Bassompierre.  She  kissed  the  hands  of  the  king  and 
the  queen-mother,  and,  after  a  low  reverence  to  the 
Queen  of  Navarre,  staggered  rather  than  walked  from 
the  apartment,  as  one  drunken  with  joy. 

After  a  commanding  glance  at  her  son,  and  a  whis- 
pered "  Remember!"  Catherine  followed  her. 

Sad  and  sorrowful,  Marguerite  would  have  done  the 
same,  but  a  low  "  Margot !"  brought  her  back  to  the 
king's  side. 

There  was  no  anger,  but  only  pity  in  the  look  she 
fixed  upon  her  brother's  face. 

Charles  caught  her  hand,  and  raised  his  eyes  with 
abject  pleading,  as  if  ashamed  of  his  weakness. 

"Forgive  me!  forgive  me!"  he  murmured.  And 
then  added,  with  a  short  laugh :  "  By  the  grace  of  God, 
King  of  France!  No!  By  the  grace  of  our  mother, 
Margot,  by  the  grace  of  our  mother!" 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

BENEATH  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  AXE. 

THE  reflections  of  Raoul  de  Puycadere  were  anything 
but  agreeable,  as  he  lay  immured  in  one  of  the  dun- 
geons of  the  Grand  Chatelet. 

But  a  short  week  ago,  he  had  been  possessed  of  all 
the  dearest  wishes  of  his  heart — an  honorable  post  with 
the  master  he  most  wished  to  serve,  and  the  accepted 
lover  of  the  sweetest  and  fairest  girl  in  France. 

And  now — with  no  power  to  fulfil  the  commands  of 
his  king,  alienated  from  the  lady  of  his  heart,  a  prisoner 
with  no  possibility  of  escape,  and  condemned  to  die  by 
the  axe  of  the  headsman. 

The  chevalier  was  no  coward,  but  he  was  young  and 
life  was  sweet  to  him. 

He  cursed  the  foolhardy  actions  which  had  led  him 
to  this  point  of  disaster.  Had  he  but  followed  the  good 
physician's  advice,  he  would  have  remained  concealed 
at  the  Green  Dragon  until  it  had  been  time  for  him  to 
start  on  his  mission.  Then  the  encounter  with  the  duke 
would  have  been  avoided,  the  young  man  would  still  be 
alive,  there  would  be  no  cloud  of  blood  between  him- 
self and  Gabrielle,  and  all  would  be  well. 

With  a  muttered  exclamation  of  mingled  disgust  at 
himself  and  despair  at  his  situation,  he  rose  from  the 
pallet  of  straw  on  which  he  had  flung  himself,  and, 
pushing  a  wooden  stool  beneath  the  window,  mounted 
it  and  looked  out  between  the  iron  bars. 


BENEATH    THE   SHADOW    OF   THE   AXK.  177 

The  cell  in  which  he  was  confined  was  in  one  of  the 
towers  of  the  Chatelet.  About  ten  feet  below  the  win- 
dow was  a  broad  platform,  with  a  parapet  some  two 
feet  high.  Beyond  the  parapet  was  a  sheer  descent  of 
at  least  a  hundred  feet  to  the  river  which  lay  shimmer- 
ing in  the  moonlight,  spanned  by  its  dozen  of  bridges. 
A  little  below  Raoul  could  see  the  lights  of  the  city  and 
the  towers  of  Notre  Dame  standing  like  twin  sentinels 
on  guard  over  the  capital  of  France. 

Oh,  if  he  were  but  yonder,  with  his  trusty  sword  in 
his  hand!  Why  had  he  allowed  himself  to  be  taken 
thus  by  surprise  and  without  striking  one  blow  in  self- 
defence? 

To  die  upon  the  battle-field  or  in  fair  encounter  with 
a  worthy  foe  would  have  been  a  glorious  death.  But 
abjectly,  miserably,  disgracefully,  in  the  very  flower  of 
his  youth,  with  all  the  world  before  him,  beneath  the 
shameful  axe  of  a  paid  headsman !  Oh!  it  was  horrible ! 

And  in  impotent  rage,  Raoul  shook  the  iron  bars 
which  stood  between  him  and  freedom. 

And  then  before  him  rose  the  vision  of  her  to  whom 
his  whole  heart  had  gone  out,  as  he  had  seen  her  that 
night  at  the  Louvre  with  her  lovely  eyes  looking  that 
love  into  his  which  her  sweet  lips  so  tremblingly  con- 
fessed. 

Ah,  death  would  not  be  so  hard,  if  he  could  but  once 
hold  her  close  in  his  longing  arms,  but  once  more  hear 
her  voice  murmur  his  name. 

And  bending  his  head  upon  his  clasped  hands,  his 
frame  shook  in  a  tearless,  voiceless  sob. 

But  even  then,  could  he  have  known  it,  friends  were 
near,  faithful  friends  who  had  vowed  to  risk  life  and 
limb  in  his  rescue. 

Not  twenty  feet  away  from  him  on  the  platform  below 

12 


1 7!  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

stood  one  of  them.  He  could  have  seen  her  in  the 
moonlight  had  he  chanced  to  turn  his  eyes  in  that 
direction. 

Still,  in  the  yellow-haired  buxom  country  girl,  who, 
with  basket  on  her  arm,  was  coquetting  with  the  senti- 
nel, the  chevalier  would  scarcely  have  recognized  the 
lithe,  brown-skinned  Tzigana. 

And  yet  Mirza  was  there,  led  by  that  gratitude 
which  in  people  of  her  blood  amounts  to  an  absolute 
passion. 

Her  dark  hair  covered  by  a  flaxen  wig,  her  complex- 
ion skilfully  whitened  and  her  slender  figure  padded  to 
somewhat  robust  proportions,  she  looked  to  perfection 
the  part  she  was  playing — that  of  a  simple  peasant  girl 
who  had  come  to  Paris  to  dispose  of  the  products  of  her 
little  farm. 

And,  with  nerves  strung  to  the  utmost  tension,  know- 
ing that  the  stake  was  the  life  of  the  man  who  had 
befriended  her  in  her  hour  of  need,  she  was  playing  her 
part  as  well  as  she  looked  it. 

Certainly  Griffo,  the  soldier  on  guard,  had  no  sus- 
picion that  he  had  ever  before  seen  her  face,  and  noth- 
ing was  further  from  his  thoughts  than  connecting  her 
with  that  wild-bird,  Mirza. 

Leaning  carelessly  against  the  parapet,  with  his  ar- 
quebuse  between  his  knees,  he  was  by  no  means  averse 
to  whiling  away  a  few  minutes  of  his  watch  by  making 
love  to  the  innocent-appearing  country  girl,  who,  by  her 
own  story,  had  wandered  up  on  the  platform  in  search 
of  her  brother. 

"Lost  your  brother!"  said  Griffo,  good-humoredly, 
in  his  not  unmusical  Italian  accent.  "  By  hilt  and  point ! 
as  the  sergeant  says,  if  a  pretty  face  counts  for  anything, 
your  brother's  far- more  likely  to  lose  you." 


BENEATH    THE   SHADOW    OF    THE    AXE.  179 

The  disguised  Tzigana  dropped  an  awkward  curtsey, 
and  replied  with  much  rustic  simplicity  of  manner: 

"  He  went  into  the  guard-room  to  get  paid  for  his 
eggs  and  fowls,  and  told  me  not  to  move  until  he  came 
back." 

Griffo  laughed. 

"  And  of  course  immediately  his  back  was  turned  you 
climbed  the  stairs  and  took  a  stroll  on  the  battlements. 
It's  against  orders,  my  dear,  clean  against  orders,  and, 
by  my  faith !  perhaps  it  is  my  duty  to  lock  you  up. " 

Mirza  dropped  her  basket  and  clasped  her  hands  in 
well-feigned  affectation  of  dismay. 

"  Lock  me  up?" 

"  Oh,  well,  perhaps  I  can  let  you  go  this  time, "  said 
Griffo,  with  another  laugh.  "  It's  not  pleasant  to  be 
confined  in  a  cell,  as  that  fellow  behind  the  bars  yonder 
would  undoubtedly  tell  you. " 

"What  bars?" 

"  Turn  your  pretty  eyes  to  the  tower  on  our  right 
Do  you  see  them?" 

"  Yes. "  And  she  lowered  her  voice,  as  if  half  fearful 
at  the  bare  idea.  "  Is  there  a  prisoner  there?" 

"  Yes,  and  one  not  likely  to  come  out,  except  to  go 
to  his  death." 

"Who  is  it?" 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!"  chuckled  the  soldier,  pinching  her 
cheek.  "  So  you  have  your  share  of  your  sex's  curi- 
osity. Well,  there's  no  harm  in  satisfying  you.  It's  a 
heretic,  who  killed  a  great  nobleman,  the  Duke  de  Bas- 
sompierre.  He  dies  to-morrow." 

"Dies!" 

"Peste!  It's  only  a  Huguenot.  But  let's  talk  no 
more  of  him.  You're  here  against  orders,  and  will 
have  to  pay  the  fine, " 


igo          A  GENTLEMAN  FROM  GASCONY. 

"What  fine?"  asked  Mirza,  who  had  been  gazing  up 
at  the  window  indicated  by  Griffo  and  fancied  that  she 
saw  a  white  face  there  reflected  in  the  moonlight. 

"A  kiss,"  replied  Griffo,  with  what  he  flattered  him- 
self was  a  killing  smile  and  one  well  calculated  to  win 
the  good  graces  of  the  rustic  beauty. 

But  as  he  laid  his  arquebuse  aside,  leaning  it  against 
the  parapet,  and  advanced  a  step  to  claim  the  penalty, 
the  seeming  country  maiden  sprang  back  with  a  coy- 
ness that  only  served  to  inflame  the  soldier's  desire. 

"Nay,  nay,"  she  said,  "the  fines  are  too  heavy.  Be- 
sides, I  know  the  regulations.  All  fines  are  to  be  paid 
to  the  officer  in  command,  and  not  to  the  sentinel. 
But,"  with  a  merry  laugh,  "  I've  a  flask  of  wine  in  my 
basket,  a  gift  from  the  sacristan  of  Saint  Bernardine's. 
Taste  it." 

As  she  spoke,  she  pointed  to  the  basket  which  lay 
just  under  the  parapet. 

At  this,  Griffo,  whose  thirst  for  good  liquor  was  only 
second  to  the  redoubtable  sergeant's  himself,  was  quite 
consoled  for  the  loss  of  the  expected  kiss,  which,  how- 
ever, he  promised  himself  should  only  be  momentary. 

"I  will,"  he  said,  with  eager  assent.  "  In  default  of 
the  lips  of  a  woman,  commend  me  to  the  mouth  of  a 
bottle." 

As  he  stooped  to  take  the  flask,  quick  as  lightning 
Mirza  drew  a  small  packet  from  the  bosom  of  her  bod- 
ice, and,  sending  it  with  unerring  aim,  flung  it  through 
the  iron  bars  of  the  tower  window. 

It  flew  past  Raoul,  narrowly  escaping  his  head,  and 
fell  with  a  rattle  on  the  stone  floor  of  the  cell. 

Roused  thus  suddenly  from  his  sad  revery,  the  chev- 
alier jumped  from  the  stool  to  see  what  was  the  missile 
that  had  been  hurled  thus  unceremoniously  at  him. 


BENEATH    THE    SHADOW    OF   THE   AXE.  l8l 

At  first,  he  fancied  he  had  been  shot  at,  but  in  an- 
other moment  his  eye  rested  upon  the  packet. 

Picking  it  up,  he  saw  that  it  was  a  slip  of  paper 
wrapped  about  a  stone.  He  unrolled  it  hastily,  and, 
taking  it  to  the  smoky  lantern  which  illumined  with  its 
faint  light  his  gloomy  place  of  imprisonment,  he  per- 
ceived that  there  was  writing  upon  the  paper. 

Holding  it  close  to  the  lantern,  he  succeeded  in  de- 
ciphering the  following  words: 

"  Friends  are  near.  A  sure  plan  is  laid  for  your  escape. 
Hold  yourself  in  readiness. " 

In  an  instant  his  whole  mood  changed.  What! 
There  was  a  chance  for  him  still ! 

He  dragged  the  stool  to  the  table,  and  eagerly  scruti- 
nized the  handwriting.  No,  it  was  unknown  to  him. 
But  friends,  friends  were  near ! 

Meanwhile,  Griffo  had  drawn  the  bottle  from  the 
basket  and  uncorked  it.  Raising  it  to  his  mouth,  he 
took  a  long  draught. 

"Nectar!  Veritable  nectar!"  he  declared,  half  clos- 
ing his  eyes  in  ecstacy  and  smacking  his  lips  with 
gusto.  "  And  yet  the  pestilent  heretics  say  that  the  holy 
fathers  do  not  live  well.  By  the  way,  what  is  the  name 
of  your  father,  my  dear?" 

Mirza,  who  was  rejoicing  over  the  success  of  the  first 
step  in  the  scheme  for  the  liberation  of  the  chevalier, 
which  had  been  so  carefully  planned  out  by  herself  and 
the  other  members  of  her  tribe,  answered  demurely : 

"  My  father?  Oh,  his  name  is  Valpin,  and  he  is  the 
miller  of  Montmartre." 

"Valpin,"  repeated  the  sentinel,  with  another  pull  at 
the  bottle.  "A  worthy  man  and  a  good  Catholic,  I 
doubt  me  not.  I  drink  to  his  health.  And  what  is 
your  name,  my  pretty  wild-flower?" 


l8a  A  O1NTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

"Babette,"  replied  Mirza,  drawing  a  white  handker- 
chief from  her  belt,  and  passing  it  twice  across  her  lips. 

As  if  in  answer  to  a  signal,  which  indeed  it  was,  a 
figure  stole  softly  from  the  stairway  and  crossed  the 
platform  with  catlike  step,  close  to  the  parapet,  just  be- 
hind where  Mirza  and  the  sentinel  were  standing. 

It  was  an  odd-looking  figure,  a  youth  with  tangled 
red  hair,  in  ill-fitting  peasant's  dress  of  dark  blouse 
and  full,  baggy  breeches. 

His  progress  was  so  noiseless  that  Griffo,  engrossed 
with  the  bottle  and  the  captivating  yellow-haired  girl, 
heard  not  a  sound. 

"Babette,"  said  the  sentinel,  far  more  neglectful  of 
his  duty  than  he  imagined.  "  Babette!  'Tis  a  beauti- 
ful name.  Your  health,  Babette!"  he  continued  un- 
steadily, too  unsteadily  considering  the  amount  of  wine 
he  had  drunk  (if  indeed  the  flask  did  not  contain  some 
drug  much  more  potent  than  the  mere  juice  of  the 
grape).  "Your  health,  Babette!  And  your  brother? 
What  do  you  call  him?" 

"  Pierre,"  replied  the  girl,  who,  with  her  heart  in  her 
mouth,  was  watching  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye  the 
fiery-headed  intruder  as  he  crawled  with  velvet  step 
closer  and  closer  to  the  tower  with  its  barred  window. 

"I  drink  to  Pierre!  I  drink  to  all  your  family,"  de- 
clared Griffo,  gallantly,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word. 

The  man  in  the  peasant's  dress  had  reached  the  tower, 
and  as  the  sentinel  raised  the  bottle  to  his  lips,  he  laid 
his  hand  on  the  rough  stone- work,  and  with  the  agility 
of  a  cat,  clinging  to  the  projections,  he  clambered  up 
the  ten  feet  of  wall  between  him  and  the  window,  and 
finally  clung  to  the  iron  bars,  resembling  in  the  moon- 
light some  enormous  bat  with  folded  wings. 

**  Your  brother's  a  long  time  coming,  my  pretty  Ba- 


BENEATH   THE   SHADOW   OF   THE  AXE.  183 

bette,"  muttered  Griffo,  with  a  maudlin  look  of  what 
was  meant  to  be  tenderness  (surely  it  was  wonderful 
how  quickly  the  wine  had  taken  effect).  "But  the 
longer  the  better.  You  won't  drink,  my  dear.  That's 
not  sociable. " 

"  No,  but  I'll  do  something  better  than  that,"  replied 
the  pretended  Babette,  with  an  arch  glance,  which  con- 
vinced the  soldier  that  he  had  made  a  conquest. 

"What  can  be  better?"  he  asked,  with  a  leer.  "A 
kiss?" 

"No,  no,  that  may  come  afterward,"  she  laughed, 
warding  him  off  with  a  gesture  which  was  far  more 
alluring  than  repellant.  "  But  I'll  sing,  if  you'll  join 
in  the  chorus. " 

"  A  song  in  praise  of  love?" 

"  No,  in  praise  of  the  next  best  thing — of  wine. " 

"By  the  mass!  you're  right,  and  you're  a  damsel  of 
wit  as  well  as  of  beauty.  Pipe  up,  and  I'll  join  in.'* 

Mirza  took  him  by  the  arm  and  by  imperceptible 
steps  led  him  farther  away  from  the  tower,  as  she  broke 
into  a  rollicking  drinking-song : 

"Then  fill,  fill,  oh  fill! 
Let  the  can,  let  the  can  go  round." 

Who  can  blame  her  if  her  voice  was  a  little  unsteady? 
The  critical  moment  had  come,  and  there  was  so  much 
at  stake.  However,  Griffo  noticed  nothing.  He  was 
too  intoxicated  with  the  wine  of  the  good  fathers  and 
the  brightness  of  the  girl's  eyes. 

Raoul  was  still  studying  the  mysterious  writing, 
when  he  was  startled  from  its  contemplation  by  a  low- 
murmured  : 

"Hist!  hist!     Monsieur!" 

Starting  to  his  feet  and  turning  to  the  window  whence 


A    GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

the  sound  proceeded,  he  saw  to  his  amazement  a  face 
pressed  close  against  the  bars. 

"  Not  a  word  above  your  breath!"  came  the  warning 
in  the  lowest  of  tones.  "  The  sentinel  is  only  two  paces 
from  here." 

"  Who  are  you?"  breathed  the  chevalier,  scarce  dar- 
ing to  believe  his  eyes. 

"  Pharos,  the  gypsy." 

"Pharos!" 

"Yes.  And  Mirza  is  below.  Have  courage,  Mon- 
sieur le  Chevalier,  and  you  are  free!" 

Free!  Raoul's  heart  bounded  in  his  breast.  The 
letter  then  was  from  Mirza,  and  action  had  followed 
close  upon  it. 

Without  more  words  the  Bohemian  drew  a  file  from  his 
pocket,  and,  the  noise  concealed  by  Mirza's  singing,  pro- 
ceeded, with  skilful  celerity,  to  cut  through  the  iron  bars. 

Raoul  watched  him  in  breathless  silence. 

"Then  fill,  fill,  oh  fill! 
Let  the  can,  let  the  can  go  round." 

Mirza's  clear  voice  rang  out  on  the  still  night  air, 
accompanied  by  an  occasional  gruff  note  from  the  en- 
amoured sentinel. 

Raoul  wondered  idly  if  he  would  ever  forget  that 
melody. 

At  last  the  task  was  accomplished.  The  bars,  severed 
at  top  and  bottom,  were  removed  and  thrown  noise- 
lessly upon  the  prisoner's  pallet. 

In  another  moment,  the  Bohemian  sprang  lightly 
through  the  opening  into  the  cell. 

Mirza's  voice  for  an  instant  broke,  and  then  pealed 
forth  again  triumphantly.  The  trite  drinking-song 
sounded  like  a  hymn  of  victory. 


BENEATH    THE   SHA»OW    OF    THE   AXE.  185 

"Haste,  monsieur,  haste!"  exclaimed  Pharos,  speak- 
ing with  rapid  entreaty.  "  Through  that  window  lies 
your  only  chance.  Mirza  will  distract  the  sentinel's 
attention  as  you  descend  upon  the  platform.  From  the 
platform,  you  can  gain  by  a  ladder  the  roof  of  the  other 
tower  which  overhangs  the  river.  Attach  this  rope," 
and  he  quickly  unwound  a  long  coil  from  about  his 
waist — "  attach  this  rope  to  the  iron  flagstaff,  and  the 
descent  is  easy.  You  have  no  weapon — here  is  my 
poniard,  one  that  has  seen  service.  Do  not  pause  to 
question.  Every  moment  of  delay  breeds  a  fresh 
danger. " 

"But  you!"  said  Raoul,  hesitating  in  spite  of  the 
other's  importunity.  "  I  cannot  leave  you  here." 

"  Bah !  You  need  not  fear  for  me,  monsieur, "  re- 
plied the  gypsy,  with  a  short  laugh  of  careless  confi- 
dence. "The  stone  walls  are  not  yet  built  that  can 
keep  Pharos  long  a  prisoner.  Think  only  of  yourself. 
On  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  just  against  the  further 
tower  of  Notre  Dame,  you  will  see  a  light,  the  light  of 
a  torch.  Make  for  it.  There  you  will  find  Ismael  and 
others  of  my  tribe,  who  will  bring  you  to  a  place  of 
safety.  Why  do  you  still  hesitate?  Would  you  not 
live?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  rejoined  Raoul  with  a  sudden  feverish 
haste.  "Yes,  my  brave  Pharos,  I  would  live!" 

He  seized  the  rope  from  the  gypsy's  hands  and  wound 
it  hurriedly  about  him,  thinking  as  he  did  so: 

*'  Ay,  I  would  live,  if  only  to  say  farewell  to  her. " 

"  Up  with  you,  then !"  cried  Pharos,  in  evident  satis- 
faction. "  You  have  already  delayed  too  long,  but  it  is 
a  chance  and  the  only  one. " 

Yes,  he  had  delayed  too  long ;  for  just  as  the  gypsy 
seized  the  chevalier's  arm  to  assist  him  to  mount  to  the 


1 86  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

window,  the  sound  of  heavy  footsteps  was  heard  just 
without  the  door  of  the  cell,  and  a  coarse  voice  trolled 
forth: 

"With  a  clink  and  a  clank, 
With  a  clink  and  a  clank, 
Here's  more  strength  to  the  Catholic  flail !" 

The  chevalier  and  Pharos  recoiled,  and  contemplated 
each  other  in  blank  consternation. 

In  an  instant,  however,  the  gypsy  had  recovered  his 
self -composure. 

"It's  that  bragging  rascal,  Goujon,"  he  said,  in  a 
hoarse  whisper.  "Quick,  monsieur,  place  yourself 
there. " 

And  he  pushed  Raoul  behind  the  door,  so  that  he 
would  be  hidden  by  it  when  it  should  be  opened. 

The  key  was  already  grating  in  the  lock. 

For  Pharos  to  seize  the  blanket,  wrap  himself  in  it, 
and  throw  himself  upon  the  pallet  as  if  asleep,  was  the 
work  of  but  a  moment. 

But  he  was  none  too  soon. 

Scarcely  was  he  in  position  than  the  heavy  door 
swung  inward,  and  Sergeant  Goujon  swaggered  across 
the  threshold. 

He  cast  his  little  red  eyes  about  the  cell,  until  they 
rested  upon  the  figure  reclining  on  the  bed. 

"By  the  beard  of  Saint  Bridget!"  he  grunted,  half 
aloud.  "He  sleeps!  Sleeps  as  if  there  were  no  to- 
morrow and  no  Annibal  Goujon." 

Then,  crossing  the  dimly  lighted  room,  he  approached 
the  wretched  pallet,  and  laid  his  hand  roughly  upon  the 
shoulder  of  the  supposed  Huguenot. 

"Hola!  my  gentleman,  arouse  thee!"  he  bellowed. 
"I  bring  you  news!  His  Majesty  is  graciously  pleased 
to  shorten  your  suspense  by  some  hours,  and  you  are 


BENEATH    THE    SHADOW    OF   THE   AX1.  187 

to  be  executed  to-morrow  at  daybreak.  To-morrow! 
Arouse  yourself!  Arouse!"  with  another  vigorous 
shake.  "  Awake,  I  say !  It  is  I,  Annibal  Goujon,  the 
terror  of " 

But  just  here  a  strange  transformation  took  place. 

The  gypsy,  flinging  off  the  blanket,  started  up  into  a 
sitting  posture,  and  confronted  the  terrible  sergeant 
with  a  cocked  pistol,  held  not  two  inches  from  his  fiery 
nose. 

With  a  howl  of  fear,  Goujon  fell  heavily  to  his  knees, 
and  held  up  his  hands  in  an  attitude  of  supplication. 

At  the  same  instant  Raoul  sprang  forward,  and  using 
the  bent  back  of  the  trembling  coward  as  a  step,  leaped 
on  to  the  window-sill,  and  from  there  dropped  lightly 
to  the  floor  of  the  platform. 

With  a  thrill  of  excitement,  Mirza  saw  the  action. 

"Look!  look!"  she  cried  to  Griffo.  "What  is  that 
light  on  the  opposite  bank !" 

The  soldier  turned,  and  at  the  same  instant  the 
Tzigana  snatched  up  the  half-empty  flask,  and  poured 
the  remainder  of  the  contents  over  the  lock  of  the 
arquebuse,  which  rested  against  the  parapet. 

Meanwhile  the  chevalier  had  stolen  like  a  ghost 
across  the  platform  and  was  mounting  the  iron  ladder 
which  led  to  the  roof  of  the  other  tower. 

"  I  see  no  light,"  said  Griffo,  shading  his  eyes  with 
his  hand. 

"You  are  not  looking  in  the  right  direction,"  ex- 
claimed Mirza,  seizing  his  arm  and  twisting  him  about. 
"Over  there!  near  the  Pont  des  Arts." 

The  fugitive  had  reached  the  top  of  the  tower.  To 
unwind  the  rope  from  his  waist  and  attach  it  to  the 
flagstaff  was  the  work  of  but  a  moment.  Then  grasp- 
ing the  rope,  he  commenced  the  descent,  hand  over 


l88  A  GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCONY. 

hand,  warding  off  with  his  feet  the  rough  projections  of 
the  stonework. 

"Peste!  There  is  no  light!"  said  Griffo,  wheeling 
suddenly,  before  Mirza  could  divine  his  attention. 

The  first  thing  his  eyes  fell  upon  was  the  swaying 
figure  of  the  chevalier,  now  nearly  on  a  level  with  the 
parapet  and  distinctly  visible  in  the  moonlight. 

"The  Huguenot!  The  Huguenot!"  he  yelled,  and, 
snatching  up  his  arquebuse,  he  levelled  it  at  the  escap- 
ing prisoner. 

But,  thanks  to  Mirza's  foresight,  the  piece  flashed  in 
the  pan. 

Dashing  down  the  worthless  weapon  with  a  furious 
imprecation,  Griffo  pushed  the  gypsy  girl  roughly  aside, 
and  rushed  toward  the  rope  which  connected  with  the 
alarm  bell. 

Clang!  clang!  clang!  crashed  out  the  brazen  notes. 

Splash!  Raoul  had  dropped  into  the  river.  And 
before  the  soldiers,  who  came  flying  out  of  the  guard- 
room, could  ascertain  what  was  the  matter,  he  had 
struck  out  lustily  for  the  opposite  shore. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

BY    ROYAL    COMMAND. 

KAOUL  realized  that  it  was  to  be  a  swim  for  life,  and, 
although  impeded  by  his  clothes,  he  exerted  all  the 
strength  of  his  muscular  arms. 

The  garrison  was  aroused — he  knew  that  by  the 
alarm  bell — but  the  river  was  not  wide  at  this  part,  and 
could  he  but  reach  the  other  side,  it  would  go  hard  with 
him  if  he  did  not  manage  to  elude  his  pursuers,  before 
they  would  have  time  to  cross  by  one  of  the  bridges. 

Zip!  a  bullet  whizzed  passed  him  and  struck  the 
water  just  beyond,  dashing  showers  of  spray  into  his 
eyes. 

Instantly  he  dived  beneath  the  surface  and  came  up 
breathless  some  ten  feet  beyond. 

Half  a  dozen  strokes,  and  he  dragged  himself,  ex- 
hausted, out  of  the  water  on  to  the  quay. 

So  far,  so  good!  Giving  himself  a  hasty  shake,  he 
started  hurriedly  down  the  street. 

All  was  quiet,  and  no  one  was  in  sight. 

What  had  Pharos  said?  Just  opposite  the  towers  of 
Notre  Dame! 

This  must  be  the  place.  But  where  was  the  prom- 
ised aid? 

There  was  no  time  to  lose.  He  would  surely  be  fol- 
lowed, and  in  five  minutes  at  the  most  the  soldiers 
would  come  speeding  across  the  Pont  des  Arts. 


190  A  GENTLEMAN  FROM   GASCONY. 

He  glanced  across  the  river.  Yes,  in  less  time  than 
that!  Torches  were  already  flashing  hurriedly  along 
the  water-side. 

But  just  at  that  moment  a  man  darted  out  from  an 
alley-way  and  seized  his  arm. 

"  Have  no  fear,"  he  said,  as  the  chevalier  started  back 
in  alarm.  "It  is  I,  monsieur,  Ismael  the  Bohemian. 
Quick!  quick!  There  is  no  time  to  lose!" 

And  he  flung  a  dilapidated  cloak  over  the  Gascon's 
wet  garments,  and  thrust  a  ragged  hat  into  his  hand, 
bidding  him  to  pull  it  down  well  over  his  face. 

"Now,  follow  me!" 

The  Bohemian  plunged  back  into  the  dark  passage- 
way from  which  he  had  emerged,  and  Raoul  hurried 
after  him,  keeping  close  upon  his  footsteps. 

Twisting  and  turning  they  went  on  at  a  rapid  pace, 
the  gypsy  evidently  well  acquainted  with  the  way,  for 
he  never  hesitated  for  an  instant. 

"Courage,  monsieur,"  he  said  at  last,  looking  back 
over  his  shoulder.  "  We  are  almost  there. " 

Hardly  were  the  words  out  of  his  mouth,  when  a  loud 
"Halt!  Who  goes  there?"  brought  them  both  to  a 
standstill. 

Raoul  clapped  his  hands  to  the  dagger  Pharos  had 
given  him  and  drew  it  from  his  belt. 

"  For  the  love  of  heaven,  monsieur,  put  back  that 
weapon!"  said  the  gypsy,  in  a  quick  whisper.  "It  is 
the  watch!" 

«  But " 

"Hush!  Leave  it  tome!  I  answer  for  your  safety 
on  my  life!" 

The  chevalier  knew  that  his  guide  was  faithful,  and 
yet  it  was  with  great  reluctance  that  he  returned  the 
dagger  to  his  belt 


BY   ROYAL   COMMAND.  101 

The  watch  was  now  close  upon  them,  a  captain  and 
four  men. 

"  What  are  you  doing  abroad  at  this  time  of  night?" 
demanded  the  captain. 

"We  are  on  special  service,"  replied  Ismael,  coolly. 

"  On  special  service,"  repeated  the  captain,  scornfully 
eyeing  the  two  ragged  figures  before  him.  "  And  on 
whose,  pray?" 

For  answer,  the  gypsy  drew  a  paper  from  the  breast 
of  his  blouse  and  handed  it  to  his  interlocutor. 

Taking  it  to  the  light  of  a  lantern  which  was  hung 
across  the  corner  of  the  street,  the  captain  of  the  watch 
unfolded  the  paper  and  read  what  was  written  thereon. 

"  Pass  the  bearer  and  his  companion  without  delay  or 
question,  but  not  outside  of  Paris.  CAROLUS  REX.  " 

It  was  with  a  very  different  manner  that  the  captain 
now  addressed  the  two  men,  whom  he  had  been  on  the 
point  of  arresting. 

He  returned  the  paper  to  Ismael  with  the  utmost 
deference. 

"Pass,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "and  pardon  me  for  de- 
taining you,  but  in  these  times  it  behooves  a  king's 
officer  to  use  every  precaution." 

"  You  have  only  done  your  duty.  We  have  no  com- 
plaint to  make,"  returned  Ismael,  calmly.  "Good- 
night, officer." 

"  Good-night,  gentlemen.     May  the  saints  speed  you !" 

And  the  officer  drew  aside  to  allow  the  gypsy  and  his 
companion  to  pass. 

Ismael  raised  his  hat  with  courtesy  and  strode  for- 
ward, followed  by  Raoul,  greatly  puzzled  at  the  easy 
manner  in  which  his  guide  had  solved  the  difficulty. 

For  five  minutes  they  moved  ahead  in  silence,  and 


192  A  GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCONV. 

then  the  gypsy  turned  into  a  garden,  surrounded  by  a 
crumbling  wall. 

"Step  carefully,  monsieur,"  he  said,  and  the  warning 
was  needed,  for  the  pathway  was  overgrown  with  weeds 
and  littered  with  rubbish. 

A  few  minutes'  walk  brought  them  to  what  seemed 
to  be  an  unfinished  house. 

The  gypsy  descended  a  step  or  two  to  a  door  leading 
to  the  basement. 

He  rapped  once  and  then  twice,  with  a  quick  staccato 
movement. 

"  No  one  is  here.  They  are  late,"  he  said,  and  draw- 
ing a  key  from  his  pocket,  he  unlocked  the  door  and 
threw  it  open. 

"  Enter,  monsieur, "  he  said.     "  This  is  a  sure  asylum. " 

Raoul  obeyed  and  found  himself  in  pitchy  darkness. 
But  only  for  a  moment.  Ismael  produced  flint  and 
steel,  and  soon  two  candles  were  lighted,  emitting  a 
feeble  light. 

The  chevalier  looked  around  him  in  bewilderment. 

It  was  a  poor  place  enough — a  sort  of  cellar,  roughly 
furnished  with  a  deal  table  and  half  a  dozen  rudely 
constructed  chairs. 

The  gypsy  went  to  a  cupboard  and  brought  forth 
bread,  cheese,  and  a  bottle  of  wine. 

"  Eat,"  he  said.     "  You  must  be  faint." 

De  Puycadere  was  only  too  glad  to  comply,  but  his 
curiosity  was  excited  as  to  how  the  Bohemian  had  man- 
aged to  pass  the  watch,  and,  as  he  ate,  he  interrogated 
him  on  the  point. 

Ismael  smiled. 

"It  was  very  easy.  There  was  nothing  miraculous 
about  it,"  he  said.  "  Monsieur  le  Chevalier  has  friends 
in  high  places  as  well  as  in  low.  Before  attempting 


BY    ROYAL   COMMAND.  193 

your  rescue,  Pharos  consulted  the  landlord  of  the  Green 
Dragon,  who  went  to  Master  Pare,  rhe  king's  physician, 
and  through  him  a  pass  was  obtained  from  his  Majesty. 
It  might  not  have  been  necessary,  but  it  is  well  to  be 
prepared  on  all  points.  The  paper  I  showed  the  cap« 
tain  of  the  guard  was  that  pass. " 

Raoul  stretched  forth  his  hand  and  grasped  that  of 
the  Bohemian. 

"  How  can  I  ever  thank  you?"  he  said. 

"The  indebtedness  is  still  on  our  side, "  responded 
Ismael,  simply.  "  The  children  of  Egypt  are  one,  and 
you  saved  Mirza." 

After  Raoul  had  eaten  and  drunk  sufficient  to  refresh 
his  jaded  condition,  he  stretched  his  arms  with  a  long 
yawn  and  said : 

"  My  good  friend,  I  have  a  lengthy  journey  before 
me  to-morrow,  and  it  would  be  well  if  I  sought  some 
rest. " 

But  the  gypsy  made  a  gesture  of  negation. 

"Not  yet,  monsieur,"  he  protested.  "Monsieur  may 
have  a  visitor  to-night,  whom  he  would  be  sorry  to 
miss." 

"A  visitor!"  ejaculated  the  chevalier  in  surprise. 

But,  before  he  could  ask  any  questions,  a  low  tap  re- 
sounded from  the  door,  followed  by  two  more  in  rapid 
succession. 

Ismael  unbarred  the  door,  to  admit  Mirza,  flushed 
and  breathless,  still  in  the  disguise  of  the  peasant. 

As  she  caught  sight  of  the  chevalier,  she  uttered  an 
exclamation  of  joy. 

"Thank  heaven,  you  are  safe!" 

"Yes,  and  it  is  your  work,"  said  Raoul,  rising  from 
the  table  and  bowing  before  her  with  as  much  reverence 
as  he  would  have  shown  the  Queen  of  Navarre  herself. 


194  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

"No.  I  could  have  done  nothing  without  Pharos," 
replied  Mirza,  modestly,  as,  with  a  gesture  of  im- 
patience, she  flung  off  the  flaxen  wig. 

"  And  Pharos?" 

"Pharos!"  with  a  confident  laugh.  "Trust  Pharos 
to  take  care  of  himself. " 

"Mirza,"  said  Raoul,  approaching  nearer  and  speak- 
ing in  a  low  tone.  "  Did  you  go  to  the  Hotel  de  Bas- 
sompierre  to-day?" 

"Yes." 

"And  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac?" 

The  Tzigana  smiled,  looking  up  at  Raoul  with  eyes 
full  of  meaning. 

"Oh!  I  saw  her  too.  She  kept  the  rendezvous. 
There  will  be  at  least  one  happy  heart  in  Paris  when 
your  escape  is  known. " 

The  chevalier's  face  absolutely  sparkled  with  renewed 
hope. 

Ah!  what  a  happy  time  is  youth!  How  little  it 
takes  when  one  is  young  to  turn  despair  into  joy! 
Youth  is  well  named  the  spring-time  of  life.  It  no 
more  fears  the  future,  than  the  blade  of  grass  which 
pushes  forth  its  first  feeble  shoot  in  a  field  devastated 
by  winter  doubts  Mother  Nature. 

"  What  did  she  say?    What  did " 

But  again  the  chevalier  was  interrupted,  as  the  same 
signal  was  repeated  upon  the  door. 

"Chut!  monsieur,"  whispered  Ismael.  "These  must 
be  the  visitors  I  spoke  of." 

The  door  being  opened  gave  entrance  to  two  men 
wrapped  in  long,  dark  mantles  and  their  faces  covered 
with  masks. 

The  taller  of  the  two  advanced  to  Raoul,  who  was 
in  doubt  whether  this  was  a  fresh  cause  for  alarm  or 


BY    ROYAL    COMMAND. 


'95 


not,  and  removed  his  vizard,  exhibiting  the  eagle-like 
features  of  the  King  of  Navarre. 

"Your  Majesty!  Here!"  exclaimed  the  chevalier  in 
amazement,  sinking  upon  one  knee  before  his  sovereign. 

"  Rise !  rise !"  commanded  Henri,  impatiently.  "  This 
is  no  time  for  folly  of  that  sort.  The  times  are  too 
perilous.  Leave  ceremony  for  the  court,  where  it  is 
only  valuable  to  keep  fools  at  a  distance. " 

Raoul,  still  bewildered,  rose  to  his  feet.  "Well, 
young  sir,"  continued  the  king,  eyeing  him  with  a 
glance  which  combined  both  pity  and  scrutiny,  "  have 
the  last  few  days  destroyed  your  spirit,  or  are  you  still 
ready  to  be  my  messenger  to  the  Governor  of  La 
Rochelle?" 

"  I  am  ever  ready  to  do  your  Majesty  service,"  replied 
Raoul. 

"Then  you  will  start  two  hours  before  daybreak. 
Your  friend  here,"  indicating  Ismael,  who  with  Mirza 
had  withdrawn  to  the  farthest  corner,  abashed  at  the 
presence  of  royalty,  "  will  bring  your  horse  to  this  place. 
Here  is  a  pass,  and  hard  work  had  I  to  wring  it  from  my 
brother-in-law.  Had  he  known  to  what  purpose  it  was 
to  have  been  put,  he  would  never  have  given  it,  eh, 
Master  Pare?"  and  he  turned  to  his  companion,  who 
had  also  unmasked,  exhibiting  the  pale,  intellectual 
countenance  of  the  king's  physician.  "  And  now,"  con- 
tinued Henri  of  Navarre,  "  here  are  further  instructions 
for  the  Governor  of  La  Rochelle.  The  attack  will  be 
made  shortly,  and  he  is  to  resist  to  the  death.  To  the 
death!  Do  you  understand?" 

"  I  understand,  your  Majesty,"  replied  Raoul,  as  he 
received  the  two  documents.  "But  oh,  sire,"  and  he 
trembled  at  his  own  effrontery,  "  what  shall  I  say  when 
they  ask  me  if  our  leader  has  indeed  recanted?" 


ig&  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM   GASCONY. 

A  dark  frown  crossed  the  King  of  Navarre's  face,  and 
for  a  moment  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  about  to  strike  the 
audacious  questioner  to  his  feet. 

Then  a  smile  parted  his  thin  lips. 

"I  like  your  spirit,"  he  said.  "But  it  is  for  you  to 
obey  commands  and  leave  higher  questions  to  those 
above  you.  Is  not  the  crown  of  France  worth  a  mass?" 

The  chevalier  made  no  reply. 

"I  see  you  blame  me,"  continued  the  king,  with  a 
somewhat  sarcastic  laugh,  and  yet  not  angrily.  "  What 
is  that  to  me?  And  why  I  answer  you  I  do  not  know, 
save  that  I  see  in  you  that  rare  virtue — sincerity.  Do 
you  know  your  classics?  If  you  do,  you  must  remember 
what  Tacitus  says:  'Oh!  the  happy  time  when  each 
one  can  think  what  he  likes  and  say  what  he  thinks!' 
That  happy  time  has  not  yet  arrived. " 

"  And  yet,  sire "  began  Raoul,  and  then  paused. 

"Go  on,"  said  Henri,  with  a  good-natured  smile. 
'*  I  am  in  a  humor  to  hear  you  now,  and  I  may  not  be 
again. " 

"  Why,  then,  abandon  the  religion  of  which  you  are 
the  leader,  and  so  dishearten  your  followers?" 

"  Abandon,  never !  I  have  simply  laid  it  aside.  Be- 
lieve me,  it  is  better  to  recoil  in  order  to  leap  the 
further,  than  to  leap  at  once,  when  sure  of  falling  short 
of  your  mark.  How  would  it  have  benefited  my  follow- 
ers had  I,  in  stubbornness,  sacrificed  my  life?" 

"  But  surely  the  King  of  France  would  have  listened 
to  reason,"  suggested  Raoul,  surprised  at  his  own  bold- 
ness. 

"The  king,  perhaps.  But  not  the  queen-mother. 
She  is  the  head  of  France  at  present,  and,  believe  me, 
one  does  not  argue  with  success.  I  have  done  what  I 
considered  for  the  best,  and  for  the  future  welfare  of 


BY    ROYAL   COMMAND.  197 

the  country  I  love.  Do  not  be  too  exacting,  mon  ami. 
To  expect  absolute  rectitude  here  below  is  a  dangerous 
dream.  And  do  not  judge  by  appearances.  What 
amuses  the  child  is  the  marionette,  what  interests  the 
man  are  the  wires  by  which  it  is  worked.  Let  time 
show  whether  my  course  has  been  right  or  not.  And 
let  posterity  judge  me." 

A  shade  of  sadness  passed  over  the  face  of  the  man 
who  was  destined  in  the  future  to  be  the  guiding-star 
of  his  beloved  France  and  to  do  away  with  many  of  the 
abuses  under  which  she  was  now  groaning.  But  it  was 
only  for  a  moment  that  Henri's  face  was  overclouded. 
Then,  wrapping  his  cloak  about  him  again,  he  laid  his 
hand  firmly  on  the  young  Gascon's  shoulder. 

"And  now,  do  your  duty.  I  have  placed  in  your 
hands  a  dangerous  and  important  mission.  The  pass  I 
have  given  you  and  filled  up  with  an  assumed  name  was 
bestowed  on  me  personally,  in  case  my  safety  should 
require  it.  But  be  wary.  Do  not  be  captured  again. 
For  should  you  be  recognized,  I  fear  not  even  that  pass 
would  avail  you.  Farewell  and  God-speed!  Away 
with  your  doubts!  Trust  your  sovereign  as  he  trusts 
you!" 

"To  the  life,  sire!"  exclaimed  Raoul  fervently,  his 
whole  heart  full  of  affection  and  devotion,  as  he  raised 
to  his  lips  the  hand  so  frankly  extended  to  him. 

Without  more  words,  the  King  of  Navarre  turned  to 
leave  the  place. 

But  Master  Pare  lingered  a  moment 

"You  forgot  my  advice,  my  boy,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice  and  half  reproachfully.  "  I  did  not  know  of  your 
wrest  till  recently,  shortly  before  the  king,  who  had 
been  in  communication  with  Simon  Beppa,  sent  for  me 
to  accompany  him  here."  Otherwise — but  it  is  useless 


198  A   GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCONY. 

to  speak  of  that  now.  But  if  you  are  in  danger  again, 
send  for  me  if  possible  without  delay.  I — and  I  alone — 
may  be  able  to  save  you.  I  dare  say  no  more  now. 
My  science  is  not  omnipotent.  Hope  for  all  things, 
and — remember !" 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

RAOUL    TO    THE    RESCUE. 

AFTER  the  departure  of  the  King  of  Navarre  with 
Master  Pare,  the  chevalier,  in  spite  of  himself,  could 
not  but  feel  encouraged. 

He  fully  realized  how  great  a  compliment  the  king 
had  paid  him  in  seeking  him  out  in  that  squalid  place 
and  in  bestowing  upon  him  the  confidence  he  had. 

The  physician's  words  too  were  full  of  cheer  for  the 
future.  Raoul  could  not  but  wonder  if  the  good  man 
were  not  in  possession  of  some  secret  which  sooner  or 
later  would  dissipate  the  clouds  that  at  present  lowered 
over  his  path. 

If  he  could  only  see  Gabrielle,  if  it  were  but  for  one 
instant,  to  hear  her  sa}'  that  she  forgave  him  for  the  in- 
jury, unconscious  though  it  were,  he  had  wrought  to 
her  and  her  family.  But  any  further  attempt  in  that 
direction  was  not  to  be  thought  of  for  a  moment.  His 
duty,  and  his  sole  duty,  now  was  to  proceed  to  La 
Rochelle  and  fulfil  his  master's  behest. 

"Mirza,"  he  called,  raising  his  head,  and  beckoning 
to  him  the  gypsy  girl,  who  had  remained  hidden  away 
in  a  dark  corner  with  Ismael  during  the  preceding  in- 
terview— "  Mirza,  do  you  know  what  arrangements 
have  been  made  for  me  to  obtain  my  horse  in  the 
morning?" 

"Yes,   Monsieur  le  Chevalier.     Ismael  will  conduct 


200  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM   GASCONY. 

you  to  her.  All  has  been  settled  with  Master  Beppa. 
But,  monsieur "  and  the  girl  hesitated. 

"Well?" 

"You  will  not  run  such  fearful  risks  again?" 

"  Have  no  fear. " 

"When,  in  the  gardens  of  the  Hotel  de  Bassom- 
pierre " 

"  Ah !"  cried  Raoul,  leaping  to  his  feet  with  all  his 
old-time  impetuosity — "Ah!  you  were  there!" 

"Yes." 

"  And  you  saw  her  ?  " 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"  Heaven  bless  her !  She  came  to  meet  me !  And 
I,"  bitterly,  "/failed  in  my  appointment!" 

"  She  understood,  monsieur. " 

"She  knew  of  my  arrest?" 

"Yes.  Sergeant  Goujon  came  to  inform  the  duch- 
ess." 

Raoul  ground  his  teeth  with  rage. 

"  Ah !  the  sergeant !  I  have  a  long  score  to  settle 
with  him.  And  settled  some  day  it  shall  be!" 

"May  I  be  there  to  see!"  exclaimed  Mirza,  with  a 
gleam  in  her  black  eyes  which  showed  that,  with  all 
her  capacity  for  gratitude,  she  possessed  her  full  share 
of  the  vindictiveness  which  is  supposed  to  be  a  char- 
acteristic of  her  race. 

"  Mirza, "  continued  the  chevalier,  taking  the  girl's 
hand  in  his,  "no  one  could  have  been  better  friend 
than  you  have  been  to  me.  Dare  I  ask  one  further 
proof  of  your  goodness?" 

"You  have  only  to  speak,  monsieur.  Your  wishes 
are  my  commands." 

"When  I  am  gone  from  here,  seek  in  some  way  to 
see  her  once  again,  and  tell  her — tell  her,  the  twin  stars 


RAOUL   TO   THE   RESCUE.  tOI 

of  our  destiny  have  not  yet  sunk.  Tell  her,  for  yet  a 
little,  to  hope  and  trust." 

The  Tzigana  gave  the  required  promise;  and,  making 
a  pillow  of  his  cloak,  the  chevalier  threw  himself  down 
for  the  rest  he  so  much  needed  to  fit  him  for  the  long 
journey  in  store  for  him  on  the  morrow. 

While  he  slept,  the  gypsies  outside,  who  had  been 
warned  by  Mirza  of  what  would  be  expected  of  them, 
kept  faithful  watch. 

Long  before  daylight,  Ismael  aroused  the  Gascon, 
and,  with  the  utmost  precaution,  led  him  by  a  round- 
about way  to  the  rear  of  the  stables  of  the  Green  Dragon. 

Here  Simon  Beppa,  the  faithful,  was  in  waiting, 
with  the  horse  saddled  and  bridled.  He  also  had 
Raoul's  sword,  and  as  the  young  man  buckled  it  once 
more  about  his  waist,  it  seemed  to  furnish  him  with  a 
fresh  store  of  courage. 

He  could  have  sworn  too,  as  he  caressed  the  horse's 
head,  that  the  splendid  animal  knew  him  again,  and 
this  was  another  good  omen. 

No  time  was  lost  in  the  preparations  for  departure, 
and  after  a  hearty  farewell  to  each  of  his  two  friends, 
Raoul  found  himself  riding  slowly  (for  undue  haste 
might  have  aroused  suspicion)  toward  the  outskirts  of 
the  city.  He  passed  the  guard  at  the  gate  without 
difficulty,  although  the  officer  in  charge  closely  scruti- 
nized both  the  pass  and  its  presenter. 

"  Did  this  bear  aught  other  than  the  royal  signature, 
we  might  be  obliged  to  detain  you,"  he  said,  half  apolo- 
getically, as  he  handed  back  the  paper.  "We  have 
orders  to  exercise  more  than  usual  caution." 

Raoul  bowed  politely,  replaced  the  document,  but 
made  no  response  in  words,  as  he  touched  the  horse 
lightly  and  rode  through  the  gate. 


2O2  A    GENTLEMAN    FROM   GASCONY. 

The  first  danger  was  passed.  As  soon  as  he  dared, 
he  spurred  on  his  steed,  and  was  soon  clattering  away 
at  full  speed  southward. 

All  day  long  he  rode,  the  good  horse  seeming  to  know 
no  such  thing  as  fatigue.  Truly  this  mare,  in  whose 
veins  ran  the  blood  of  Arab  ancestors,  was  a  striking 
contrast  to  the  rawboned  animal  with  which  Raoul  had 
set  forth  from  Puycadere. 

She  seemed  to  know  the  love  her  master  had  con- 
ceived for  her,  and  to  be  resolved  to  leave  nothing 
undone  to  merit  it. 

Raoul  stroked  her  sleek  neck  and  baptized  her  Spe- 
ranza  in  honor  of  the  goddess  of  Hope,  at  whose  shrine 
he  was  then  a  devout  worshipper. 

That  day  and  the  next  were  productive  of  no  unto- 
ward events,  and  by  nightfall  of  the  second  day  they  had 
reached  the  village  of  Seuil,  not  twenty  miles  away 
from  La  Rochelle,  their  final  destination. 

Here  the  chevalier  determined  to  remain  until  the 
morrow.  It  would  have  been  impossible  to  reach  the 
city  before  the  closing  of  the  gates,  and  besides  he  was 
not  willing  to  tax  further  the  splendid  animal  that  had 
carried  him  so  well. 

The  inn  of  the  town  was  clean  and  neat,  and  kept 
by  a  bright-faced,  merry  little  woman  who  reminded 
De  Puycadere  strongly  of  his  good  friend  of  Saint 
Germain,  Madame  Rose  Goujon,  whose  kindhearted- 
ness  almost  atoned  for  the  wretched  qualities  of  her 
miserable,  unworthy  husband.  After  an  excellent 
supper,  the  king's  messenger  stretched  himself  in  .a 
corner  of  the  fireplace  with  a  flask  of  good  Rhenish  at 
his  elbow. 

The  room  rapidly  filled  up  with  the  villagers,  until  it 
was  crowded  almost  to  overflowing.  All  seemed  un- 


RAOUL   TO    THE   RESCUE.  203 

duly  excited,  and  it  was  evident  that  there  were  topics 
of  more  than  ordinary  interest  to  discuss. 

The  whole  talk  was  of  the  massacre  in  Paris,  and 
Raoul  soon  saw  that  there  was  a  strong  determination 
among  these  sturdy  Huguenots  to  resist  in  this  part  of 
the  country  all  royal  persecution  or  encroachment  on 
their  rights.  No  second  Saint  Bartholomew  would  be 
possible  here.  They  were  warned  and  ready. 

There  were  two  men  who  had  the  most  to  say  and  to 
whose  opinions  the  others  listened  eagerly  and  with 
deference;  one  was  a  big,  burly  fellow  with  a  loud 
voice  and  apparently  a  person  of  wealth  and  influence, 
the  other  was  his  exact  opposite,  a  little,  delicate-look- 
ing man,  but  with  features  full  of  kindliness  and  refine- 
ment. 

"  I  tell  you,  Master  Mastino,"  the  first  was  saying,  as 
Raoul's  attention  was  drawn  to  their  conversation, 
"  this  is  no  Paris,  as  the  king  will  find.  La  Rochelle 
will  teach  his  grace  of  Guise  to  sing  another  song.  La 
Rochelle  will  have  no  royal  garrison  forced  upon  her. " 

"Granted,"  replied  the  one  addressed  as  Master 
Mastino,  "  but  I  doubt  much  if  the  king  or  the  Duke  of 
Guise  attempts  so  high-handed  a  proceeding. " 

This  statement  was  greeted  by  a  perfect  hubbub  of 
exclamations. 

"As  much  as  you  know  about  the  matter,"  replied 
the  burly  man,  as  soon  as  his  voice  could  be  heard 
above  the  noise.  "  It  is  strongly  rumored,  and  I  believe 
the  rumor  to  be  correct,  that  a  garrison  is  ordered  at  La 
Rochelle,  and  a  veritable  army  is  coming  to  enforce  the 
demand." 

"Indeed,"  said  Mastino,  in  surprise;  "nothing  was 
known  of  this  when  I  left  La  Rochelle,  or  rather  Vris- 
sac,  this  morning." 


2O4  A  GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

At  the  word  Vrissac,  Raoul  could  not  repress  a  start, 
but  he  was  destined  to  receive  a  still  greater  surprise 
at  the  very  next  words  spoken. 

"  Vrissac !  Ay,  and  the  accursed  vicomte  is  the  man 
appointed  as  chief  of  the  garrison.  Ma  foi !  He'll  find 
things  somewhat  changed  at  the  chateau!" 

And  the  speaker  roared  with  laughter,  in  which  he 
was  joined  by  almost  the  entire  company. 

"It  was  an  outrage!"  cried  Mastino,  indignantly. 
"The  chateau  was  not  his,  and,  moreover,  it  ill  be- 
hooves us  to  copy  the  atrocities  of  our  enemies. " 

"  Bah !  You  would  talk  in  a  different  vein  had  you 
not  been  physician  to  the  Vrissac  family.  But  we 
won't  quarrel  over  that.  There'll  be  plenty  of  blood- 
shed before  long !" 

"I  fear  so!  Ah,  would  the  king  had  better  coun- 
sellors!" 

"That  would  be  treason  in  Paris,  Master  Mastino, 
but  here  we  can  snap  our  fingers  at  Lorraine  and  the 
Italian  woman.  Curses  upon  the  murderers  of  Coligny ! 
Ah !  if  we  had  but  a  leader.  Would  Harry  of  Navarre 
were  among  us;  but,"  with  a  sigh,  "he,  they  say,  goes 
now  to  mass. " 

"Ay,  'tis  a  shame!  No  gallanter  leader  could  we 
wish  for,  but  he  has  saved  his  own  neck  at  the  expense 
of  his  followers." 

Raoul  longed  to  speak  out,  to  declare  himself  as 
equerry,  to  narrate  his  conversation  with  the  King  of 
Navarre,  and  to  assure  these  Huguenots  that  their 
leader  was  with  them  heart  and  soul ;  but  a  moment's 
reflection  convinced  him  that  this  would  be  unwise,  not 
to  say  dangerous.  What  the  king  had  said  had  been 
said  to  him  in  confidence,  and  it  was  not  for  him  to 
betray  it 


RAOUL    TO    THE    RESCUE. 


205 


He  finished  his  bottle  of  wine  and  then  sought  his 
room. 

Bright  and  early  the  next  morning,  mounted  on  Spe- 
ranza,  he  set  out  for  La  Rochelle. 

In  all  the  villages  through  which  he  passed,  he 
noticed  that  the  people  were  in  the  streets  and  that  in- 
tense excitement  prevailed. 

Evidently  the  news  he  had  heard  at  Seuil  the  even- 
ing before  had  preceded  him. 

He  dashed  by  the  various  groups,  however,  without 
stopping  to  ask  questions,  and  at  about  nine  o'clock 
found  himself  within  a  few  miles  of  his  destination. 

As  he  was  riding  rapidly  along,  he  noticed  at  one 
side  of  the  road  a  magnificent  estate,  but  the  lawns  and 
terraces  of  which  were  trampled  and  defaced,  and  the 
mansion  itself  was  disfigured  and  blackened  as  if  by  a 
recent  conflagration. 

Two  peasants,  one  a  very  old  man  and  the  other  a 
mere  boy,  were  sitting  under  a  tree  by  the  roadside, 
discussing  a  frugal  meal. 

The  chevalier  drew  rein,  and,  addressing  them,  in- 
quired as  to  the  cause  of  the  devastation. 

"That  is  the  Chateau  de  Vrissac,"  piped  up  the  boy 
eagerly,  "  and  it  was  set  on  fire  because  it  belongs  to 
the  wicked  vicomte,  an  enemy  of  our  religion." 

"Tush,  tush,  boy,  your  tongue  flies  away  with  you," 
interrupted  the  old  man,  reprovingly.  "  'Tis  true  the 
vicomte  is  harsh  and  unjust,  but  the  fire  was  started  by 
new-comers  in  the  village,  who  had  been  misinformed 
as  to  the  ownership  of  the  domain.  The  vicomte  is 
not  the  proprietor,  but  his  cousin,  Mademoiselle  Gabri- 
elle,  who,  though  her  worship  be  not  ours,  is  as  sweet 
and  lovely  a  young  lady  as  the  sun  ever  shone  on. 
Heaven  bless  her!'' 


206  A    GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

The  blessing  was  re-echoed  in  the  chevalier's  heart 
as  he  bestowed  upon  the  peasant  a  largess  so  great  as 
to  cause  his  old  eyes  to  open  wide  with  amazement  and 
gratitude.  It  was  a  larger  sum  than  he  had  ever  pos- 
sessed at  any  one  time  in  all  his  simple  life. 

Without  waiting  for  the  thanks  which  were  heaped 
upon  him,  Raoul  rode  off,  and  was  soon  before  the 
gates  of  La  Rochelle. 

He  found  no  difficulty  in  gaining  admission  to  the 
governor,  and  his  interview  with  that  official  was  most 
satisfactory. 

The  governor's  face  fairly  beamed  with  joy  as  he 
read  the  communication  from  the  King  of  Navarre,  in 
which  the  latter  warned  him  of  the  approach  of  the 
royal  troops,  bade  him  refuse  entrance  and  hold  the 
city  at  all  costs,  and  in  conclusion  gave  assurance  to  all 
the  Huguenot  chiefs  that  he  (Henri)  was  with  their 
cause  heart  and  soul,  and  only  awaited  a  fitting  oppor- 
tunity to  declare  the  fact  publicly. 

"This  saves  La  Rochelle!"  was  the  exultant  cry  of 
the  governor,  as  he  hastened  away  to  inform  the  various 
officers  of  the  glorious  news. 

In  spite  of  Raoul's  impatience  to  set  out  on  his  home- 
ward journey,  he  was  compelled  to  remain  the  entire 
day  until  the  return  dispatches  could  be  prepared. 

As  the  King  of  Navarre's  messenger,  every  attention 
and  courtesy  were  paid  to  him,  and  a  young  officer  of 
about  his  own  age  was  detailed  to  show  him  about  the 
city. 

He  found  the  place  to  be  splendidly  fortified  and  fully 
equipped  with  men  and  ammunition.  There  was  no 
doubt  that  if  the  royal  troops  should  attempt  a  siege, 
they  would  stand  but  little  chance  of  success. 

Before  he  had  half  finished  his  tour  of  inspection,  all 


RAOUL   TO    THE    RESCUE.  207 

the  chevalier's  warlike  instincts  were  aroused,  and  he 
found  himself  more  than  once  wishing  that  he  might 
remain  to  take  part  in  the  approaching  fray. 

But  this  of  course  was  impossible,  as  his  orders  were 
to  return  to  Paris  at  the  earliest  possible  moment. 

Just  before  nightfall  all  was  in  readiness,  and  with 
the  precious  dispatches  sewn  within  the  lining  of  his 
doublet,  Raoul  bade  a  cordial  farewell  to  the  governor 
and  the  young  officer,  leaped  upon  Speranza's  back,  and 
clattered  out  of  the  gateway,  the  portcullis  being  im- 
mediately lowered  behind  him. 

It  was  a  beautiful  evening,  and  the  smiling  landscape 
gave  no  token  of  the  terrible  scenes  of  battle  and  blood- 
shed it  was  destined  to  witness  before  twenty-four  hours 
had  elapsed. 

The  chevalier  rode  leisurely  along,  as  it  was  not  his 
intention  to  proceed  farther  than  Seuil  that  night,  and 
he  might  have  to  make  a  long  detour  on  the  morrow  in 
order  to  avoid  the  approaching  army. 

In  any  event,  it  would  have  been  dangerous  to  attempt 
to  pass  through  the  royal  troops,  but  it  was  doubly  so 
now  that  he  had  reason  to  believe  that  Hector  de  Vris- 
sac,  his  declared  enemy,  was  in  command. 

It  was  already  dark  when  he  passed  the  Chateau  de 
Vrissac,  and  the  huge  building  loomed  up  a  shapeless 
mass  through  the  gloom.  He  felt  enraged  at  the  van- 
dalism which  had  been  committed,  and  more  than  ever 
deplored  the  strife  of  party  which  was  racking  that  fair 
land  of  France  from  north  to  south,  from  east  to  west. 
If  Henri  of  Navarre  should  ever  qpme  to  the  throne,  he 
would  be  a  king  in  all  that  the  name  implied,  and  not  a 
mere  puppet  in  the  hands  of  unscrupulous  advisers. 

There  was  the  tree  under  which  the  two  peasants  had 
sat  What  was  it  the  o1^  man  had  said?  "As  sweet 


208  A    GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

and  lovely  a  young  lady  as  the  sun  ever  shone  on." 
Ay,  that  she  was.  And  the  young  Gascon  grew  very 
humble  at  the  thought  that  he  had  won  this  pearl  of 
price;  for  not  for  one  instant  would  he  admit  but 
that  she  would  be  his  eventually,  in  spite  of  the 
clouds  that  now  hung  darkly  over  their  destiny.  How 
he  despised  himself  for  the  gay,  reckless  life  which  had 
been  his  before  he  had  met  her,  and  how  he  would 
struggle  to  be  worthy  of  her  in  the  future,  should  his 
hopes  be  realized  or  not.  In  spite  of  the  passing  fan- 
cies which  come  to  every  young  man  of  imagination 
and  an  ardent  temperament,  he  had  never  loved  before 
and  he  would  never  love  again.  From  his  boyhood 
upward  such  a  vision  as  that  of  Gabrielle  had  haunted 
at  times  his  waking  thoughts  and  lent  its  brightness  to 
the  world  of  dreams,  but  never  did  imagination  conjure 
up  so  beautiful  a  reality. 

Absorbed  in  these  thoughts,  he  rode  slowly  on  until 
he  was  about  a  mile  from  Vrissac,  when  suddenly  his 
meditations  were  rudely  interrupted  by  fierce  exclama- 
tions and  then  the  clash  of  steel. 

Just  ahead  of  him  was  a  turn  in  the  road,  and  it  was 
from  beyond  this  turn  that  the  noise  came. 

The  chevalier's  first  impression  was  that  the  royal 
army  was  approaching  and  he  had  narrowly  escaped 
thrusting  his  head  into  the  hornets'  nest;  but  this  idea 
was  quickly  dispelled  as  a  woman's  scream  rang  out 
shrilly  on  the  night  air. 

Spurring  Speranza  forward,  he  soon  came  to  the 
turning,  and  there  a  strange  scene  was  displayed  before 
his  eyes,  in  the  light  of  blazing  torches  which  had  been 
fixed  in  the  high  bank  by  the  roadside. 

In  the  middle  of  the  highway  was  a  travelling  car- 
riage, the  frightened  horses  of  which  were  held  by  a 
burly  fellow,  whose  features  were  indistinguishable. 


RAOUL   TO    THE   RESCUE.  209 

Surrounding  the  carriage  were  four  other  desperadoes 
armed  with  pikes. 

Upon  the  ground  lay  the  motionless  form  of  a  man  in 
the  livery  of  a  footman,  and  Raoul  caught  a  glimpse  of 
two  figures  running  toward  the  bushes,  evidently  the 
other  servants  who  had  fled  at  the  attack  upon  the 
coach,  leaving  its  occupants  to  their  fate. 

And  one  of  these  occupants  at  least  was  a  woman! 

Not  for  one  instant  after  he  realized  the  condition  of 
affairs  did  the  chevalier  hesitate. 

Drawing  his  sword,  he  rode  headlong  into  the  midst 
of  the  freebooters,  for  such  they  were.  The  ruffians 
were  taken  totally  by  surprise,  and  before  they  could 
realize  what  had  happened  two  of  them  had  bit  the  dust, 
struck  down  by  Raoul's  trusty  sword.  The  man,  who 
had  been  standing  at  the  horse's  head  fled  in  dismay, 
but  the  other  two  held  their  ground. 

In  an  instant,  the  Gascon  had  leaped  from  his  saddle 
and  was  bearing  down  upon  them.  A  sweep  of  the  keen 
blade  and  one  of  them  fell  writhing  to  the  ground,  but 
meanwhile  the  other  had  thrust  with  his  pike  only  too 
surely,  and  Raoul  felt  a  sharp  pain  in  his  shoulder 
where  the  weapon  had  pierced  it. 

Before  the  pike  could  be  withdrawn,  however,  with  a 
lightning-like  lunge  he  had  passed  his  sword  clean 
through  the  body  of  the  wretch  who  had  wielded  it. 

Grasping  the  pike,  he  pulled  it  out  from  his  shoulder. 
A  rush  of  blood  followed,  and,  faint  and  dizzy,  he 
turned  toward  the  carriage.  There,  framed  in  the  win- 
dow and  distinctly  visible  in  the  light  of  the  torches, 
was  the  horror-struck  face  of  Gabrielle  de  Vrissac. 

With  a  low,  inarticulate  cry,  Raoul  staggered  forward 
a  step,  and  then  consciousness  left  him,  and  he  fell 
headlong,  almost  at  the  very  feet  of  the  woman  he 
loved  and  for  whom  he  had  fought  so  gallant! w. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

CAUGHT    IN    THE    TOILS. 

To  explain  how  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac  happened 
to  be  in  the  dangerous  plight  from  which  she  was  res- 
cued by  Raoul,  a  brief  retrospective  glance  will  be 
necessary. 

We  have  seen  how  the  duchess  went  to  the  Louvre 
and  with  what  success  she  met. 

It  needed  only  one  glance  at  her  aunt's  face  for 
Gabrielle,  who  had  passed  the  time  of  the  duchess'  ab- 
sence in  an  agony  of  suspense,  to  know  what  was  the 
result  of  her  mission. 

The  chevalier  was  doomed. 

Although  Gabrielle  fully  realized  that  all  was  over 
between  them,  that  never  could  she  give  her  hand  to 
one  which  was  stained  in  the  blood  of  a  cousin,  who 
had  been  as  dear  to  her  as  any  brother,  it  was  like  a 
death-knell  to  her  as  well,  to  know  the  man  she  loved, 
ay  and  loved  still  in  spite  of  all,  was  destined  to  lose 
his  head  upon  the  scaffold. 

Not  one  word  did  she  say  to  her  aunt.  And,  indeed, 
it  would  have  been  useless.  Sorrow  seemed  to  have 
wrought  an  entire  change  in  the  duchess*  whole  nature. 

Faithful  to  her  word,  she  had  spared  the  life  of  the 
man  who  had  thrown  himself  on  her  protection,  and 
permitted  him  to  pass  uninjured  from  the  house  into 
which  he  had  brought  desolation  and  left  a  shadow 
which  would  never  be  lifted — the  shadow  of  death. 


CAUGHT    IN    THE    TOILS.  211 

But  now  all  the  kind  and  loving  springs  of  her  nature 
seemed  dried  up,  all  the  large  charity  of  the  woman 
was  asleep,  and  the  mother  was  aroused,  with  but  one 
thought  in  heart  and  brain — vengeance  on  the  man  who 
had  deprived  her  of  her  son. 

But  not  so  with  Gabrielle.  Her  one  thought  was  to 
save  the  prisoner,  and  then  bury  what  remained  of 
her  miserable  life  in  some  convent. 

But  how  to  save  him? 

The  Queen  of  Navarre  was  her  only  hope,  and  to  the 
Louvre  she  betook  herself  as  early  the  next  morning  as 
court  etiquette  would  permit. 

But  Marguerite,  loving  and  sympathetic  as  she  was, 
could  give  no  relief  to  that  aching  heart. 

"My  child,"  she  exclaimed  sorrowfully,  "I  have 
done  all  in  my  power,  but  it  is  useless.  The  king,  my 
brother,  is  inexorable." 

"But  he  will  listen  to  you!  He  loves  you!"  cried 
Gabrielle,  wildly. 

"  He  loves  me,  yes.  But  there  is  one  of  whom  his 
fear  is  greater  than  his  love  for  me." 

"I  know!     And  to  her  I  will  go!" 

"Nay,  nay,  my  child,"  said  Marguerite,  laying  a  re- 
straining hand  upon  the  young  girl's  shoulder;  "it 
would  be  but  to  dash  your  head  against  a  wall  of 
granite." 

But  Gabrielle,  beside  herself  with  grief  and  horror, 
flung  off  almost  roughly  the  queen's  hand. 

"I  care  not!"  she  exclaimed,  passionately.  "Go  to 
her  I  must  and  will !  I  care  not  were  it  to  meet  my 
death !" 

" Ventre-saint-gris !  who  speaks  of  death!"  cried  a 
clear,  deep  voice. 

Both  women  started  as  the  King  of  Navarre,  who  had 


212  A    GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

entered  the  room  tmperceived,  advanced  toward  them. 

"Ah!  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac,  is  it  you?"  he  con- 
tinued. "And  with  that  Niobe-like  face!  You  have 
not  heard  the  news  then?" 

"News!  What  news?"  exclaimed  the  queen  and  Ga- 
brielle  in  a  breath. 

"  The  Chevalier  de  Puycadere  will  not  be  executed  at 
present. " 

"The  king  has  relented?"  asked  Marguerite,  eagerly. 

"Not  he!  But  the  bird  has  flown!  The  chevalier 
has  escaped!" 

"  Escaped?" 

"Ay,  and  is  in  safety.  I  warrant  me,  the  blood- 
hounds will  not  catch  him  this  time." 

Gabrielle,  released  from  the  terrible  tension,  swayed 
and  would  have  fallen,  had  not  the  queen  caught  her 
in  her  arms. 

There,  a  flood  of  tears  came  to  relieve  the  over- 
wrought brain. 

Holding  the  girl  close  to  her  heart,  Marguerite  petted, 
comforted,  and  wept  with  her. 

The  king,  who,  brave  as  he  was,  shrank  from  the 
sight  of  woman's  tears,  stole  quietly  away. 

After  Gabrielle  was  somewhat  calmer,  Marguerite 
insisted  upon  sending  her  back  to  the  Hotel  de  Bassom- 
pierre  in  her  own  litter. 

"  Courage,  sweetheart !  Who  knows  what  the  future 
has  in  store  for  you." 

But  Gabrielle  only  shook  her  head  sadly. 

Arrived  home,  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac  was  told 
that  the  duchess  wished  to  see  her  without  delay. 
Going  at  once  to  her  aunt's  apartment,  she  found  there 
not  only  the  duchess  herself,  but  the  Vicomte  Hector 
as 


CAUGHT    IN    THE    TOILS.  313 

The  news  of  the  chevalier's  escape  from  the  Grand 
Chatelet  was  already  known  to  them. 

But  the  duchess'  strength  was  at  end.  Terrible  as 
the  blow  was  to  her,  she  lacked  the  energy  to  pursue 
her  vengeance  further  and  to  arrange  plans  for  the  re- 
capture of  the  fugitive. 

She  lay  back  in  her  arm-chair,  pale  and  motionless, 
her  heavy  eyelids  drooping,  and  her  whole  attitude  one 
of  hopeless  despair. 

She  did  not  even  look  up  as  Gabrielle  entered  the 
room. 

But  the  vicomte  turned  to  her  with  a  gloomy  frown 
on  his  dark  countenance. 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  said,  "it  is  scarcely  meet  for  a 
demoiselle  of  your  position  to  be  alone  in  the  streets. " 

"I  have  been  to  the  Louvre,"  replied  Gabrielle, 
quietly.  "  And  I  was  not  alone.  Dame  Brigitte  went 
with  me,  and  I  returned  in  the  royal  litter." 

"  Then  you  doubtless  know  of  the  escape  of  Paul's 
murderer?" 

At  these  words,  the  duchess  shivered. 

"Yes,"  replied  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac,  simply. 

"And  you  doubtless  regret  your  short-lived  infatua- 
tion?" demanded  the  vicomte,  with  a  half-veiled  sneer. 

Gabrielle  raised  her  eyes,  and  looked  her  cousin  full 
in  the  face. 

"  If  you  mean— Is  all  at  end  between  the  Chevalier 
de  Puycadere  and  myself?"  she  said,  slowly  and  dis- 
tinctly, "yes,  a  thousand  times,  yes.  I  hope  never  to 
see  him  again. " 

A  gleam  of  joy  transfigured  the  vicomte's  counte- 
nance. He  took  a  step  forward  and  caught  Gabrielle's 
hand  in  his. 

41 Thank  heaven  for  that!"   he  exclaimed,  fervently. 


214  A    GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

"  Then  Gabrielle,  dear  Gabrielle,  the  dream  of  my  life 
will  be  realized." 

Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac,  with  no  haste,  gently  re- 
leased her  hand. 

"  The  dream  of  your  life?" 

"  To  call  you  my  wife.  You  know  that  I  love 
you." 

"  I  shall  never  marry,"  replied  Gabrielle,  gently  but 
firmly. 

"Bah!"  laughed  the  Vicomte.  "  I'll  teach  you  to 
think  better  of  that." 

"  I  intend  without  delay  to  enter  the  convent  of  the 
Madonna. " 

De  Vrissac  started,  and  the  laugh  died  away  on  his 
lips. 

"You  are  mad!" 

"That  is  my  fixed  resolve." 

"  Madame  la  Duchesse  and  myself  will  have  some- 
thing to  say  on  that  matter.  Let  me  remind  you  that 
you  are  not  your  own  mistress. " 

"  I  shall  be  in  six  months." 

"  And  meanwhile?" 

"  Meanwhile,  I  remain  with  my  aunt  if  she  will  al- 
low it." 

"  And  at  the  same  time  a  target  for  all  the  scandal- 
ous tongues  in  Paris. " 

"Scandal,  monsieur!"  ejaculated  Gabrielle,  proudly. 
"  Scandal  has  yet  to  touch  my  name. " 

"  Perchance!  But  it  will  not  be  long  delayed.  Your 
— what  shall  I  call  it? — love  affair  is  well  known.  If 
this  chevalier  escapes  the  axe,  what  guarantee  have  we 
that  you  are  not  meeting  him  in  secret?" 

"  My  word,  monsieur. " 

"Your  intentions  are  doubtless   beyond  suspicion. 


CAUGHT   IN   THE   TOILS.  115 

But  it  is  well  to  avoid  temptation.     You  will  be  safer 
at  Vrissac  than  here." 

"  At  Vrissac?" 

"Yes.  With  Dame  Brigitte  as  a  companion,  you 
will  be  as  secluded  as  in  the  convent  you  long  for,  and 
will  doubtless  shortly  forget  your  foolish  infatuation. " 

Gabrielle  turned  to  the  duchess. 

"Aunt,"  she  said,  piteously,  "is  this  your  wish 
also?" 

The  duchess  moved  uneasily,  as  if  annoyed  at  being 
disturbed. 

"  For  the  present,  yes, "  she  answered  listlessly.  "  I — 
I  would  be  alone." 

The  tears  came  to  Gabrielle's  eyes,  but  she  bravely 
choked  them  back. 

"I  am  ready,  then,"  she  answered,  calmly.  "When 
is  it  your  will  that  I  should  go?" 

"  As  soon  as  possible.     To-morrow  morning. " 

"Very  well." 

"  You  are  not  angry  with  me,  Gabrielle?" 

And  there  was  such  a  note  of  pleading  in  his  voice 
that  Gabrielle,  in  spite  of  herself,  was  touched. 

"No,  Hector,  I  am  not  angry,"  she  replied,  gently. 

"  I  would  gladly  accompany  you  to  Vrissac,  you  know 
that,"  proceeded  the  vicomte,  his  face  clearing  at  her 
answer.  "  But  my  regiment  is  ordered  to  La  Rochelle, 
and  I  must  needs  accompany  it.  We  start  this  after- 
noon." 

The  duchess  raised  her  head,  and  for  the  first  time 
manifested  any  interest  in  the  conversation. 

"You  are  going  to  La  Rochelle.  Is  there  trouble 
there?" 

"  It  will  soon  be  quelled  after  we  arrive,"  answered 
De  Vrissac  confidently.  "  'Tis  only  a  vain  threat  of 


2l6  A  GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCON Y. 

the  accursed  heretics.     A  few  swords  flashing  in  the 
sunlight,  and  they  will  capitulate. " 

"  But  will  Gabrielle  be  safe?"  asked  Madame  de  Bas- 
sompierre,  with  just  a  slight  touch  of  anxiety  in  her 
weary  voice. 

"Surely,  my  dear  madame.  Vrissac  is  fully  three 
miles  from  La  Rochelle.  Even  should  there  be  any 
fighting,  she  would  know  nothing  of  it.  Why,  the 
heretics  themselves  would  not  dare  to  touch  the  chateau. 
Besides  I  shall  be  not  far  distant  and  fully  able  to  pro- 
tect her." 

Madame  de  Bassompierre  hesitated  a  moment.  She 
had  never  liked  the  vicomte,  and  she  asked  herself  if 
indeed  it  were  well  that  her  niece  should  quit  the  pro- 
tection of  her  roof. 

But,  after  all,  what  did  it  matter?  Her  son  was  dead. 
Naught  else  was  of  interest.  Doubtless  Gabrielle  was 
as  well  off  at  Vrissac  as  anywhere. 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  sinking  back  into  her  former 
indifferent  attitude.  "You  are  her  guardian  as  well 
as  I." 

A  pang  shot  through  Gabrielle's  breast.  Had  she 
lost  her  aunt,  too,  as  well  as  her  lover? 

"  I  will  see  that  a  coach  and  the  proper  servants  are 
ready  to-morrow  morning,"  said  De  Vrissac.  "Of 
course  you  will  take  Dame  Brigitte  with  you." 

Gabrielle  nodded.  She  felt  like  an  automaton  with 
no  will  of  her  own. 

And,  after  all,  it  mattered  but  little.  At  Vrissac,  at 
all  events,  there  would  be  peace.  It  was  her  first  grief, 
and  she  had  yet  to  learn  the  truth  of  the  adage :  Ccclum 
non  animum  mutant. 

It  was  not  without  design  that  the  vicomte  suggested 
Dame  Brigitte  accompanying  his  cousin  to  Vrissac. 


CAUGHT   IN   THE   TOILS.  817 

The  good  woman  had  been  his  nurse  as  well  as  that 
of  Gabrielle,  and  she  was  quite  as  devoted  to  the  one  as 
to  the  other.  It  was  the  dearest  wish  of  her  life  to  see 
her  two  foster-children  united.  To  her,  there  was  no 
family  like  the  Vrissacs,  and  she  would  have  laid  down 
her  life  for  either  one  of  the  two  remaining  representa- 
tives. 

The  vicomte  was  quite  well  aware  of  all  this,  and 
he  counted  on  Dame  Brigitte's  assistance  to  induce  Ga- 
brielle to  smile  more  kindly  on  his  suit. 

As  much  as  he  was  capable  of  being  in  love  with  any 
one,  he  was  in  love  with  his  cousin,  but  he  was  by  no 
means  blind  to  the  substantial  advantages  such  an 
alliance  would  bring  him ;  for,  besides  her  large  wealth, 
Gabrielle  was  in  high  favor  at  court  and  could  do  much 
to  further  his  fortunes.  And  ambition  was  the  god  of 
Hector  de  Vrissac's  existence. 

Had  Raoul  de  Puycadere  never  crossed  Gabrielle's 
path,  the  vicomte  might  possibly  have  accomplished 
his  wish,  for  he  was  possessed  of  a  bulldog  tenacity, 
and,  in  spite  of  much  she  saw  in  him  to  offend  her, 
Gabrielle  was  attached  to  him  in  a  way,  merely  from 
the  fact  that  he  was  her  sole  kinsman  on  her  father's 
side,  and  because  they  had  been  intimates  all  her  life. 

But,  any  chance  that  De  Vrissac  had  ever  had  was 
now  forever  gone.  His  cousin  was  not  one  of  those 
women  whose  hearts  can  be  caught  on  the  rebound.  She 
had  loved  once  and  would  never  love  again.  It  had 
been  a  beautiful  dream  while  it  lasted,  but  she  knew 
now  that  it  was  but  a  vision  destined  never  to  be  realized. 

And  it  was  a  heartsick  woman  that,  by  the  side  of 
Dame  Brigitte,  rode  out  of  the  gates  of  Paris  the  next 
morning,  en  route  for  Vrissac. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE   CLOSED   DOOR. 

IT  was  the  hour  just  before  dawn. 

Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac  sat  alone  in  what  had  once 
served  as  the  grand  salon  of  her  ancestral  chateau. 

The  apartment,  which  was  dimly  lighted  by  a  silver 
candelabra  with  three  branches,  was  now  sadly  disman- 
tled, and  presented  but  a  wreck  of  its  former  elegance. 

Everywhere,  upon  the  inlaid  floor,  over  all  the  mag- 
nificent carving  of  the  woodwork,  upon  the  tapestry 
that  covered  the  walls  and  the  velvet  hangings  of  the 
windows,  were  traces  of  the  incendiary  flames  which 
had  so  nearly  destroyed  the  fine  old  building. 

The  superb  stained  glass  of  a  large  window  which 
occupied  nearly  a  third  of  one  side  of  the  room  was  in 
fragments,  and  a  flight  of  steps  leading  from  the  win- 
dow to  the  garden  below  was  partially  in  ruins,  the 
balustrade  entirely  torn  away. 

Little  did  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac  herself  resemble 
the  brilliant  maid  of  honor  of  the  court  of  Valois.  Her 
dress  was  of  some  gray  stuff  of  the  simplest  possible 
make,  and  her  beautiful  golden  hair  was  drawn  away  in 
rippling  waves  from  her  white  forehead  and  confined 
negligently  by  a  ribbon  at  the  back. 

Changed  too,  though  none  less  lovely,  was  the  face 
whose  pallor  told  of  a  long  vigil.  It  was  very  grave, 
and  there  was  a  certain  something  in  the  depths  of  the 


THE  CLOSED   DOOR.  4 19 

sapphire  eyes  that  had  not  been  there  a  month  before 
and  told  that  the  soul  behind  had  passed  the  dividing 
line  that  separates  the  girl  from  the  woman. 

For  three  days  now  had  she  nursed  the  wounded  and 
delirious  man  who  had  come  to  her  rescue  when  her 
coach  was  attacked  by  the  German  freebooters. 

Long  before  he  had  known  who  the  occupant  of  the 
vehicle  was,  she  had  recognized  him  by  the  light  of  the 
torches. 

As  he  fell  with  that  cry  of  Gabrielle  upon  his  lips, 
after  putting  to  flight  the  last  of  the  ruffians,  she  had 
thrown  open  the  door  of  the  coach,  and,  leaping  out, 
taken  his  head  in  her  lap. 

Yes,  he  was  still  living,  but  whom  could  she  look 
to  for  aid? 

Dame  Brigitte  was  in  a  dead  faint,  having  lost  con- 
sciousness at  the  first  attack. 

All  her  retainers  were  either  slain  or  had  fled. 

As,  in  her  despair,  she  chafed  the  hands  of  the  chev- 
alier and  wiped  away  the  moisture  from  his  forehead, 
the  sound  of  hoofs  smote  upon  her  ear. 

In  another  moment  a  horseman  dashed  up  and,  leap- 
ing from  his  saddle,  approached  with  an  exclamation 
of  dismay  at  the  signs  of  the  recent  strife  about  him. 

But  this  exclamation  was  immediately  succeeded  by 
another  of  uncontrollable  surprise. 

"  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac !     Gabrielle!  you!" 

The  new-comer  was  a  little  man,  far  past  his  prime, 
but  to  Gabrielle,  in  her  distress,  he  seemed  a  very  angel 
of  light. 

She  knew  him  at  once,  an  old  friend  since  childhood 
and  the  doctor  of  the  little  village  of  Vrissac.  In  as 
few  words  as  possible  she  related  what  had  occurred. 

Master  Mastino  made  a  hasty  examination  of  the 


21O  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

chevalier's  wound,  and  pronounced  it,  though  serious, 
by  no  means  fatal. 

"We  will  take  him  at  once  to  the  chateau,"  decided 
Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac. 

14  But  the  chateau  is  partially  in  ruins." 

"In  ruins!" 

It  was  now  the  physician's  turn  to  relate  briefly  what 
had  happened. 

"  Nevertheless,  there  is  no  other  place, "  said  Gabri- 
elle,  imperatively. 

Scarcely  were  the  words  spoken,  and  before  Master 
Mastino  could  remonstrate,  the  coachman  and  one  of 
the  footmen  came  sheepishly  forth  from  where  they  had 
been  hiding  in  the  bushes  by  the  roadside,  and  thor- 
oughly ashamed  of  their  cowardice  now  that  the  danger 
was  over. 

With  their  aid,  the  form  of  the  chevalier  was  lifted 
into  the  coach  by  the  side  of  the  still  unconscious 
Dame  Brigitte. 

Gabrielle  followed,  the  doctor  .mounted  his  horse 
again,  leading  Speranza  by  the  bridle,  and  the  little 
cortege  moved  slowly  on  toward  Vrissac,  reaching  the 
chateau  without  further  mishap. 

Two  days  had  passed  since  then,  days  when  the  air 
had  been  full  of  the  echoes  of  distant  cannonading  pro- 
ceeding from  the  besiegement  of  La  Rochelle. 

It  was  now  near  the  break  of  the  third  day,  and  the 
preceding  night  had  been  much  quieter.  Evidently 
the  city  had  capitulated  or  the  besiegers  had  been 
repulsed. 

Gabrielle  vaguely  wondered  which  was  the  case, 
without  in  truth  much  caring,  as  she  sat  with  her  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  door  of  the  chamber  wherein  the  wounded 
man  lay. 


THE   CLOSED   DOOR.  221 

The  physician  was  there  and  would  shortly  come 
forth  to  give  his  report. 

"Well,  Mastino?" 

And  Gabrielle  de  Vrissac  rose  from  her  chair,  and 
advanced,  with  eager  questioning  in  her  weary  eyes, 
toward  the  little  man  with  the  kind,  benevolent  face 
who  had  just  entered  the  room,  closing  the  door  care- 
fully behind  him. 

"Well,  Mastino?" 

"  He  sleeps,  mademoiselle.  And  the  sleep  will  do 
for  him  far  more  than  all  my  remedies.  For  a  man 
badly  wounded  only  two  days  ago,  he  is  recovering  in 
a  marvellous  manner. " 

"  Then  he  is  out  of  danger?" 

"Without  any  doubt.  He  is  weak  yet  from  the 
amount  of  blood  he  has  lost,  but  there  is  no  longer 
either  fever  or  delirium," 

Gabrielle  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven,  her  lips  moving 
in  silent  thanksgiving.  For  an  instant,  it  seemed  to 
her  that  naught  else  mattered,  if  only  his  life  were 
'spared. 

"  It  must  be  said,  too,"  continued  the  physician,  "  that 
last  night  was  not  like  the  one  preceding  when  the 
noise  of  the  bombardment  continued  without  cessation 
until  daybreak." 

"  Has  La  Rochelle  fallen?" 

"  No.  The  army  of  the  Catholics  has  been  repulsed 
with  tremendous  loss.  Everywhere  the  Huguenots 
are  pursuing  them,  and  no  quarter  is  shown. " 

Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac  shuddered. 

"They  remember  Saint  Bartholomew,"  dryly  added 
Master  Mastino,  who  was  himself  of  the  reformed 
religion. 

At  these  words  a  picture  flashed  before  Gabrielle's 


222  A  GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCONY. 

mental  vision,  not  that  of  the  massacre,  but  of  another 
scene  on  that  same  Bartholomew's  eve,  when,  in  the 
palace  of  the  Louvre,  she  had  plighted  her  troth  to  one 
whom  now  a  cruel  destiny  forbade  her  to  think  of  as  a 
husband. 

"  Have  you  heard  aught  of  my  cousin,  Hector?"  she 
asked  hurriedly,  passing  her  hand  over  her  forehead  as 
if  to  banish  the  haunting  memory.  "  He  was  one  of 
the  officers  in  command." 

"Nothing,  mademoiselle." 

In  spite  of  all  she  had  to  afflict  her,  it  was  with  genu- 
ine regret  that  Gabrielle  heard  this.  After  all,  the 
vicomte  was  of  her  own  flesh  and  blood,  and  she  would 
have  been  thankful  to  know  that  he  was  safe. 

"You  should  not  remain  here,  mademoiselle,"  ven- 
tured Mastino,  after  a  pause.  "  There  may  be  danger. " 

"  Danger !  What  danger  can  there  be  here  in  this 
chateau,  devastated  by  fire,  and  which  every  one  thinks 
abandoned?" 

"  But  you  are  alone  here. " 

"  Yes,  with  the  exception  of  Dame  Brigitte,  my  old 
nurse,  and  perhaps  the  coachman  and  footman  who 
came  with  me  from  Paris ;  I  know  not  whether  they 
still  linger  or  not.  It  was  Providence  that  sent  you 
along  the  highway  that  terrible  night,  my  good  Mas- 
tino. Without  you,  I  never  could  have  brought  the — 
the  wounded  man  here." 

"  Does  Dame  Brigitte  know  nothing  of  his  presence?" 

"  Nothing.  She  did  not  recover  consciousness,  as 
you  know,  till  some  time  after  our  arrival  here. " 

"  But  why  not  associate  her  in  your  act  of  charity?" 

At  this  very  natural  question  of  the  physician,  Made- 
moiselle de  Vrissac  started  with  a  quick  movement  of 
alarm. 


THE  CLOSED   DOOR. 

"Mastino!"  she  cried,  half  commandingly,  half  im- 
ploringly. "  Not  a  word  of  the  man  who  is  there !  To 
no  one!  No  one!  You  understand !" 

Mastino  gave  her  a  glance  of  surprise,  but  he  an- 
swered quietly: 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  wish,  mademoiselle.  Besides, 
our  patient  should  be  well  enough  to  leave  here  when 
he  awakes." 

"  Heaven  be  praised  for  that!  This  care  of  conceal- 
ing him  from  Brigitte,  of  continually  guarding  that 
door,  is  wearing  me  out.  This  is  my  third  night  with- 
out sleep. " 

"  I  pray  you,  mademoiselle,  to  take  some  repose. " 

"  I  shall  have  time  enough  for  repose, "  replied 
Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac,  with  a  note  of  bitterness  in 
her  voice,  "  at  the  convent,  where  I  intend  to  offer  up 
the  rest  of  my  life." 

Again  the  good  little  man  cast  upon  her  a  look  of 
wonderment.  He  could  scarcely  recognize  in  this 
woman  who  bore  such  marks  of  sorrow  upon  her  fair 
face  the  light-hearted  girl  he  had  known  only  a  few 
months  before.  There  was  evidently  some  mystery 
here,  an  enigma  of  which  he  did  not  hold  the  key.  But 
so  long  as  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac  did  not  choose  to 
confide  in  him,  it  was  not  his  province  to  force  her 
confidence;  so  he  made  no  comment  upon  her  remark, 
but  simply  said: 

"  At  all  events  you  cannot  remain  much  longer  here.** 

"  No.  I  shall  return  to  Paris,  as  soon  as  he  is  gone, 
and  I  can  obtain  a  proper  conveyance.  My  aunt  will 
scarcely  refuse  me  a  few  days'  refuge  beneath  her  roof." 

"If  you  would  deign,  Mademoiselle  Gabrielle,  mjr 
little  house  is  always  at  your  disposal,"  suggested  tho 
physician  humbly. 


224  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

With  a  rapid  gesture,  Gabrielle  stretched  out  her 
hand  to  him. 

"I  know  it,  my  good  friend,"  she  said,  with  much 
feeling.  "  I  know  it,  and  I  thank  you. " 

The  bells  from  the  church  tower  close  by  rang  forth 
the  hour  of  six. 

"I  must  leave  you,  mademoiselle,"  said  Mastino. 
"  There  are  many  wounded  in  the  village.  I  will  re- 
turn in  two  hours  to  take  away  our  patient. " 

"  But  if  he  should  awaken  before!"  exclaimed  Gabri- 
elle, in  sudden  alarm  at  the  thought  of  what  this  con- 
tingency might  entail.  No!  She  had  given  him  up 
forever.  She  would  not  see  him  again.  To  listen  to 
his  protestations,  his  entreaties,  would  be  more  than  she 
could  endure. 

"  Oh !  if  he  awakens  before,  open  the  door  for  him ! 
Let  him  go!"  was  Mastino's  careless  response. 

"I!  oh!  no!  no!  He  must  not  see  me!"  cried  Gabri- 
elle, with  a  shudder  she  could  not  repress.  And,  then, 
as  a  new  thought  struck  her,  she  added  hastily :  "  He 
does  not  suspect  where  he  is?" 

"He  thinks  himself  in  a  deserted  house." 

*'  Without  any  idea  of  which  one  it  is?" 

"No." 

"  Nor  of  me?" 

"  Still  less— although " 

"Well?" 

"  Strange  to  say,  your  name  was  constantly  on  his  lips 
during  his  delirium.  He  must  have  heard  me  speak  to 
you,  and  his  brain  caught  at  the  word." 

Gabrielle  turned  away,  to  hide  the  bright  flush  that 
dyed  for  a  moment  her  cheek.  Yes,  she  knew  that. 
When  she  had  watched  by  his  side  and  hung  over  him 
in  an  agony  of  suspense,  had  he  not  gone  over  **d  over, 


THE   CLOSED   DOOR.  435 

with  constant  repetitions  of  her  name,  all  that  had  oc- 
curred since  last  they  met,  revealing  to  her  the  details 
of  his  escape  from  the  Chatelet  and  how  he  happened 
to  be  at  hand  to  rescue  her  from  the  freebooters?  Had 
she  not  heard  the  wild  words  of  entreaty  he  had  poured 
forth? 

But  he  was  no  longer  in  danger.  He  must  go  and 
without  seeing  her.  They  were  separated  forever — 
forever ! 

"  I  shall  return  home  through  the  churchyard.  Ex- 
pect me  in  two  hours,"  said  Mastino,  opening  the  door 
of  the  chamber  where  the  wounded  chevalier  lay. 

"  Yes.     Do  not  delay." 

The  physician  left  the  room,  and  Mademoiselle  de 
Vrissac  crossed  with  lagging  step  to  the  window,  and 
drew  back  the  curtains. 

There  was  a  rosy  light  in  the  east,  and  the  shadows 
were  fast  fleeing  from  the  garden. 

The  dawn  was  breaking. 

As  she  watched  with  aching  heart  the  light  growing 
stronger  and  stronger,  she  was  suddenly  startled  by  the 
sight  of  a  figure  furtively  making  its  way  through  the 
garden  below.  Who  could  it  be?  What  new  danger 
threatened? 

Almost  before  she  could  ask  herself  these  questions, 
the  figure  reached  the  flight  of  steps,  and  hurriedly 
mounted. 

In  another  moment,  in  the  dusk  of  the  early  morning, 
she  stood  face  to  face  with  her  cousin,  the  Vicomte 
Hector  de  Vrissac. 

She  started  back,  with  a  cry  in  which  there  were 
mingled  relief  and  alarm. 

"Hector!" 

"  Gabrielle !    Thank  heaven,  you  are  safe. " 
15  


126  A   GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCONY. 

"Safe!    Yes,  but  you!" 

And  indeed  his  appearance  gave  cause  for  some 
doubt.  He  was  in  armor,  but  it  was  broken  and  cov- 
ered with  blood  and  dirt. 

The  vicomte  hastened  to  reassure  her. 

"I  am  uninjured,"  he  said,  "and  I  have  escaped  the 
hounds  for  the  moment.  But  they  were  close  upon  my 
track.  All  is  lost!  Oh!  pardon  me,  Gabrielle,  par- 
don me!  Why  did  I  send  you  here?" 

And  there  was  such  genuine  regret  in  tone  and  look 
that  Gabrielle 's  heart  was  touched. 

"Don't  speak  of  that  now,  Hector,"  she  said,  gently. 
"  Let  us  think  of  your  safety.  That  is  the  most  impor- 
tant thing." 

"My  safety!  Yes!  But  afterward?  You  cannot  re- 
main here. " 

"  No.     I  shall  return  to  Paris  as  soon  as  possible. " 

"Yes,  that  is  best." 

His  eyes  were  devouring  her  face,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  that  she  had  never  appeared  so  beautiful,  so  desir- 
able. Worn  out  though  he  was  by  fighting  and  anx- 
iety, a  wave  of  passion  swept  over  him. 

"And  then — then,  Gabrielle,"  he  continued,  tremu- 
lously, "you  will  relent.  I  may  claim  you  for  my 
own." 

He  approached  as  if  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms;  but 
Gabrielle  recoiled  with  such  evident  repulsion  that  the 
vicomte 's  violent  temper  took  fire  at  once. 

"  You  shall  be  mine!"  he  ejaculated,  fiercely. 

"  I  have  already  told  you,  Hector,"  said  Mademoiselle 
de  Vrissac,  endeavoring  to  steady  her  voice,  for,  in  spite 
of  all  her  innate  courage,  she  was  frightened  at  his  wild 
words  and  looks — "  I  have  already  told  you  that  I  can 
never  love  you,  save — save  as  a  cousin. " 


THE   CLOSED   DOOR.  aaj 

De  Vrissac  dashed  his  steel  gauntlet  down  upon  the 
floor  with  a  furious  oath. 

"  And  why  not?  Mort  de  ma  vie !  Do  you  still  fancy 
yourself  in  love  with  that  ragamuffin,  that  adventurer, 
that  murderer?" 

Gabrielle  started  and  paled  to  the  lips.  Not  twenty 
feet  away  was  the  very  man  designated  by  such  oppro- 
brious epithets.  If  the  vicomte  should  discover  him ! 

"Would  to  heaven  I  had  him  here  now!"  continued 
De  Vrissac,  allowing  his  anger  and  hatred  full  sway. 
"This  time  he  should  not  escape!  Once  face  to  face 
with  him,  and  I  would  strangle  him  without  giving  the 
heretic  dog  chance  even  for  confession. " 

Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac  clinched  her  hands  until  the 
nails  entered  the  flesh  in  an  agony  of  fear  and  horror. 

Suppose  Raoul  should  awake! — should  hear  the 
vicomte ! — should  appear  there  now  before  him !  But 
just  at  this  moment  De  Vrissac's  mad  outbreak  was 
checked  by  the  entrance  of  Dame  Brigitte,  who  had 
been  attracted  hither  by  the  sound  of  voices  and  had 
hastened  to  discover  what  it  meant. 

As  she  caught  sight  of  her  foster-son,  she  ran  toward 
him  with  a  cry  of  delight  and  threw  her  arms  about 
him. 

De  Vrissac  submitted  to  the  embrace  with  a  good 
enough  grace,  but  disengaged  himself  as  quickly  as 
possible.  To  the  questions  with  which  he  was  over- 
whelmed, however,  he  returned  but  gruff  answers. 

"Enough  of  this!"  he  said  at  last,  cutting  short  the 
old  woman's  volubility.  "Those  accursed  heretics 
may  come  in  search  of  me  here  at  any  moment.  I  must 
away.  But  first  to  rid  myself  of  these  trappings.  I 
have  other  garments  in  the  room  I  occupied  when  last 
neve." 


228  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

"Yes,  yes,"  answered  Dame  Brigitte.  "But  will  it 
be  safe  for  you  to  leave  here?" 

"  It  is  not  safe  to  remain  here." 

"  But  are  not  the  streets  full  of  the  Huguenot  soldiers?" 

4  Oh,  I  am  not  going  by  the  streets." 

"How  then?" 

"Through  the  cemetery  to  the  priest's  house,  whei\ 
I  have  a  horse  in  waiting.  That  way!" 

And  he  pointed  to  the  door  of  the  room  where  the 
chevalier  was  hidden. 

That  way!  Gabrielle  with  difficulty  repressed  the 
cry  which  rose  to  her  pale  lips. 

"  There  is  an  outside  staircase  leading  from  that  room 
to  the  cemetery,"  continued  the  vicomte,  making  a  step 
in  the  direction  indicated. 

But,  quick  as  a  flash,  Gabrielle  darted  before  him, 
between  him  and  the  room,  his  entrance  into  which 
would  undoubtedly  mean  death  to  the  wounded  and 
defenceless  man  within. 

"Stop!"  she  cried,  hoarsely.  "Do  not  open  that 
door!" 

The  vicomte  paused,  and  looked  at  her  in  amazement. 

Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac's  heart  was  beating  so  heav- 
ily that  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  its  throbs  must  be  dis- 
tinctly audible  to  the  other  two  occupants  of  the  room. 

"  Not  open  that  door !  Why  not?"  asked  her  cousin, 
after  a  moment's  silence,  which  appeared  hours  to  the 
miserable  girl. 

Her  breath  was  coming  so  fast  as  almost  to  stifle  her, 
but  answer  she  must. 

"Because — because  you  must  not,"  she  faltered,  her 
voice  sounding  to  her  far,  far  away.  "  Because  you 
might  be  seen!  Because  there  is  nothing  there!  Be- 
cause all  is  in  ruins  behind  that  door!" 


THE   CLOSED    DOOR.  2 29 

At  this  declaration,  Dame  Brigitte,  who  had  been 
watching  her  young  mistress  attentively,  uttered  a 
harsh  exclamation  of  surprise,  which  however  passed 
unnoticed  by  either  of  the  others. 

The  vicomte  eyed  his  cousin  with  some  wonder,  but 
he  evidently  did  not  dream  of  doubting  her  word.  He 
noticed  her  agitation,  to  be  sure,  and,  with  a  thrill  of 
joy,  attributed  it  to  alarm  for  his  safety. 

"  Oh,  very  well, "  he  said,  turning  carelessly  away, 
"  then  I  must  go  in  some  other  direction.  There  is  no 
more  time  to  lose.  I  will  at  once  remove  this  armor, 
disguise  myself  as  well  as  I  can,  and  then — for  flight !" 

The  iron  hand  which  had  seemed  to  be  clutching 
Gabrielle's  heart  released  its  hold.  A  long  sigh  of 
relief  trembled  from  her  lips.  But — it  was  a  terrible 
thing  she  was  doing:  to  close  a  way  of  escape  for  her 
kinsman  in  his  moment  of  peril. 

And  yet — Raoul ! 

"You  will  go  that  way?"  she  asked  the  vicomte, 
almost  piteously,  as  she  pointed  to  the  half -ruined  flight 
of  steps  by  which  he  had  come. 

"Yes." 

"  But  it  is  dangerous. " 

"  Undoubtedly,  but  there  is  no  other  way." 

As  he  spoke,  he  turned  and  abruptly  left  the  room  to 
make  the  necessary  change  in  his  apparel. 

Gabrielle  still  stood  in  front  of  the  door,  the  opening 
of  which  she  had  forbidden. 

Suddenly  she  became  conscious  that  Dame  Brigitte 
was  regarding  her  with  a  strange  expression,  part 
amazement,  part  anger. 

For  a  moment  the  two  eyed  each  other  in  silence,  as 
do  duellists  before  the  swords  are  crossed. 

The  old  woman  was  the  first  to  speak,  and  when  she 


A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

did  it  was  in  a  hard,  cold  tone  that  Mademoiselle  de 
Vrissac  had  never  heard  from  her  before. 

"Gabrielle,"  she  said,  slowly,  dropping  the  ceremoni- 
ous Mademoiselle — "  Gabrielle,  why  did  you  tell  your 
cousin  that  behind  that  door  all  was  in  ruins?" 

In  spite  of  herself,  Gabrielle  shivered.  Was  all  to 
be  discovered? 

"  I — I  said, "  she  began,  seeking  to  gain  time. 

"You  said  that  there  was  nothing  there,"  interrupted 
Brigitte,  inexorably.  "  And  it  is  false !  You  know  it 
is  false!" 

"  Do  you  forget  to  whom  you  are  speaking?"  de- 
manded Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac,  with  an  effort  at 
haughty  indignation.  "  And  do  I  owe  you  an  account  of 
my  actions?" 

But  Dame  Brigitte,  thoroughly  aroused  at  what  she 
regarded  as  a  deed  of  unforgivable  treachery,  was  not 
an  atom  intimidated. 

"  Yes, "  she  replied  firmly.  "  You  do  owe  me  an  ac- 
count of  your  actions,  when  you  lie.  Why  did  you  lie?" 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
*TWIXT  HAMMER  AND  ANVIL. 

"NURSE!" 

In  the  first  moment  of  horror  at  knowing  that  her  se- 
cret was  discovered,  or  was  about  to  be  discovered,  and 
face  to  face  with  all  the  terrible  consequences  such  a 
revelation  might  involve,  Gabrielle  could  only  articu- 
late the  one  word : 

"Nurse!" 

But  Dame  Brigitte  was  aroused,  as  perhaps  she  had 
never  been  in  her  placid  life  before.  She  understood 
clearly  that  the  safest  way  of  escape  for  her  beloved 
foster-son  lay  through  that  room,  which  Gabrielle  had 
declared  was  in  ruins,  and  which  statement  she,  Dame 
Brigitte,  knew  to  be  untrue. 

So  it  was  with  stern  face  that  she  advanced  a  step 
nearer  her  young  mistress  and  continued  to  arraign  her 
in  cold,  unrelenting  tones. 

"  I  repeat  that  you  have  lied.  There  is  a  chamber 
there  the  entrance  to  which  you  have  forbidden.  What 
is  there  in  that  chamber?" 

"  And  what  should  there  be?" 

"  That  is  what  I  ask  you. " 

"And  if  it  does  not  please  me  to  tell  you?"  retorted 
Gabrielle,  who  had  now  entirely  recovered  her  self- 
possession,  and  was  determined  to  use  every  weapon  in 
her  power  to  allay  the  old  woman's  suspicions,  or,  fail- 
ing in  that,  at  least  to  silence  her  tongue. 


232  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

But  Dame  Brigitte's  next  move  was  a  startling 
one. 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  calmly,  "if  you  refuse  to  tell 
me,  you  shall  tell  it  to  your  cousin." 

And  she  moved  a  step  or  two  toward  the  door  through 
which  the  vicomte  had  disappeared. 

"Nurse!"  exclaimed  Gabrielle,  in  an  imploring  tone. 

Dame  Brigitte  paused  and  turned,  but  there  was  no 
sign  of  relenting  upon  her  countenance. 

"Gabrielle,  there  is  some  one  there,"  she  said,  with 
a  conviction  not  to  be  shaken,  "  some  one  whom  you 
are  hiding. " 

"  Are  you  losing  your  senses  to  speak  to  me  in  this 
way?"  replied  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac,  seeking  to  gain 
time. 

"  You  are  losing  yours  more  than  I  am  mine,  if  it  is 
the  one  I  suspect." 

"  Whom  do  you  suspect?" 

"  I  have  not  been  so  blind  as  you  think.  I  remember 
faintly  some  one  being  borne  into  this  house.  Mastino 
has  been  here.  You  have  taken  no  rest.  And  I  have 
questioned  the  coachman,  who  has  told  me  all.  Whom 
do  I  suspect?  Whom  other  than  the  one  who  has  in- 
spired you  with  so  strange  an  infatuation?" 

"  Monsieur  de  Puycadere?" 

"  You  have  named  him." 

"  Can  you  think " 

Dame  Brigitte  moved  again  as  if  to  summon  the 
vicomte. 

"  If  he  is  not  there,  open  that  door  then,  open  it. " 

"No." 

"  Then  your  cousin  shall !     Monsieur  Hector!" 

But  in  an  instant  Gabrielle  had  darted  before  her, 
and  was  barring  the  way. 


'TWIXT    HAMMER    AND    ANVIL.  233 

"  Nurse,  nurse,  what  would  you  do?  What  would 
you  do?  Would  you  have  him  kill  him?" 

"Ah!  it  is  Monsieur  de  Puycadere!"  cried  Brigitte, 
in  an  outburst  of  anger.  "  Deny  it  now  if  you  dare!" 

"Well,  yes,  it  is  he!"  admitted  Mademoiselle  de 
Vrissac,  thus  driven  to  the  wall.  "It  is  he!  But,  in 
the  name  of  the  saints,  be  silent!" 

"  Oh !  unhappy  girl !  You  give  asylum  here  to  the 
murderer  of  your  own  blood!  And  you  would  send 
another  cousin  to  his  death — oh!  oh!" 

And,  overcome  by  her  emotion,  the  old  woman  sank 
helplessly  into  a  chair. 

In  an  instant,  Gabrielle  was  on  her  knees  beside  her, 
her  arms  about  her  waist,  and  the  lovely  face  upturned 
imploringly  to  the  convulsed  countenance  of  the  woman 
who  had  never  before  refused  her  anything  in  her  life. 

"No!  no!  Nurse!  Dear  nurse!  You  do  not  un- 
derstand. It  was  he  who  came  to  our  rescue,  he  who 
saved  us  when  we  were  attacked.  He  was  wounded. 
I  could  not  leave  him  to  die  alone." 

"  That  is  no  reason  to  send  your  cousin  forth  to  his 
death." 

And  Dame  Brigitte  attempted  to  release  herself  from 
the  girl's  embrace,  but  Gabrielle  only  clung  to  her  the 
closer. 

"No!  no!  Not  to  his  death!  Don't  say  that!  He 
will  escape!  I  know  he  will!" 

"  We  must  take  no  chances!     Monsieur  Hector!" 

"Hush!  Hush!  For  the  love  of  heaven,  be  silent! 
You  did  not  hear  what  he  said?  That  he  would  stran- 
gle him,"  with  a  shudder,  "strangle  him  without  con- 
fession! And  he  is  weak,  ill,  defenceless!  It  must  not 
be!  Ah!  nurse,  nurse!  has  there  not  been  enough  of 
bloodshed?" 


234  A   GENTLEMAN   FROM    GASCONY. 

"Gabrielle!" 

It  was  evident  that  the  old  woman  was  softening. 
Her  eyes  were  less  strained  in  their  expression,  and  she 
no  longer  struggled  to  free  herself. 

Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac  was  quick  to  perceive  the 
change  and  to  follow  up  the  advantage. 

"  Dear,  dear  Brigitte,"  she  said,  laying  her  head  down 
on  the  nurse's  breast.  "  You  will  not  be  so  cruel.  No! 
No !  You  are  good !  You  are  kind !  See,  I  am  on  my 
knees  before  you,  begging  for  what?  For  the  life  of 
the  man  who  came  to  our  rescue  at  the  peril  of  his  own. 
See,  it  is  I  who  beg  of  you,  I,  your  Gabrielle,  your  lit- 
tle Gabrielle,  to  whom  you  have  never  refused  anything. " 

The  tears  were  now  rolling  down  the  old  lady's  wrin- 
kled cheeks,  and  she  bent  forward  and  strained  Gabri- 
elle close  to  her  heart. 

"My  darling,"  she  murmured,  brokenly.  "My  dar- 
ling!" And  the  young  girl  knew  the  victory  was  won. 

Then  suddenly  Dame  Brigitte  started,  and  pushed 
Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac  from  her. 

"Hush!"  she  said,  hastily  drying  her  eyes.  "Not  a 
word !  Your  cousin ! ' ' 

Footsteps  were  heard  in  the  next  room,  and,  just  as 
Gabrielle  sprang  to  her  feet,  the  vicomte  entered. 

He  had  cast  aside  his  armor,  and  was  dressed  in  som- 
bre-colored garments.  A  hat  with  broad,  flapping  brim 
was  on  his  head,  and  he  was  hurriedly  fastening  the 
clasp  of  a  long  cloak  which  he  had  thrown  over  his 
shoulders. 

"  It  is  time, "  he  said.     "  Farewell. " 

"You  are  going  now?"  asked  Gabrielle,  with  mani- 
fest uneasiness. 

"Yes." 

"And  through  the  garden?" 


'TWIXT    HAMMER    AND    ANVIL.  335 

"Certainly." 

How  cruel  it  seemed  to  expose  him  thus !  After  all, 
why  not  the  other  way?  It  was  dark  in  that  room. 
Perhaps  he  might  pass  through  without  discovering  the 
figure  stretched  upon  the  bed. 

"Ah!  Hector,  if  you  wished,"  she  stammered,  hur- 
riedly, scarce  realizing  what  she  was  saying :  "  And 
yet — if  you  wished " 

"  What?"  demanded  De  Vrissac,  in  surprise. 

"  There  is  another  way,  perhaps. " 

And  it  is  not  impossible  that  she  might  have  indi- 
cated the  door  of  the  chamber  which  she  had  declared 
was  in  ruins,  had  not  Dame  Brigitte  risen  resolutely 
from  her  chair  and  interrupted  her  with  authority : 

"  No,  my  child,  there  is  no  other.  Come,  Monsieur 
Hector,  this  is  your  way,  and  I  will  go  with  you  to  the 
garden  gate. " 

Two  bright-red  spots  were  burning  in  Gabrielle's 
cheeks,  and  she  was  trembling  like  a  leaf. 

It  is  not  strange  that  the  vicomte  misunderstood  the 
cause  of  her  agitation  and  believed  that  in  the  hour  of 
danger  her  heart  had  turned  toward  him. 

He  took  both  her  hands  in  his,  and,  bending  forward, 
touched  his  lips  to  her  forehead,  a  caress  which  Gabri- 
elle  did  not  resist,  if  indeed  she  were  fully  aware  of  it. 

"Farewell,"  he  said.  **I  shall  never  forget  this 
moment." 

"Wait!  wait!"  said  Gabrielle,  feverishly,  still  re- 
taining  his  hands.  And  then  fixing  her  eyes,  with  a 
world  of  meaning  in  their  depths,  upon  her  nurse, 
added,  "  It  must  be !  It  must  be !" 

"Yes,  my  child,  it  must  be,"  replied  Dame  Brigitte, 
separating  their  hands.  "There  is  no  other  course 
open.  Come,  monsieur." 


336          A  GENTLEMAN  PROM  GASCONY. 

After  one  long  look  into  his  cousin's  face,  the  vicomte 
followed  Brigitte  to  the  window,  and  commenced  de- 
scending the  flight  of  steps  to  the  garden. 

Gabrielle  hastened  after  them  and,  leaning  against 
the  side  of  the  window,  watched  their  descent. 

"  May  God  guard  you!"  she  cried.  And  then  mur- 
mured low  to  herself:  "And  may  He  judge  whether 
or  no  I  have  done  my  duty.  I — I  do  not  know!" 

As  she  stood  there,  watching  breathlessly  the  two 
figures  making  their  way  cautiously  across  the  garden, 
the  door  of  the  room,  the  entrance  to  which  she  had 
forbidden  her  cousin,  slowly  opened,  and  Raoul  de 
Puycadere  appeared  upon  the  threshold. 

He  was  very  pale  and  evidently  very  weak,  for  he 
supported  himself  by  the  various  pieces  of  furniture  as 
he  slowly  advanced  into  the  room. 

It  was  now  almost  daylight,  and  it  was  with  ever  in- 
creasing surprise  that  he  contemplated  his  unfamiliar 
surroundings. 

Gabrielle  he  did  not  see,  as  she  was  hidden  from  him 
by  the  curtains  of  the  window. 

But  it  chanced  that  in  his  progress  his  foot  struck 
against  a  low  footstool,  and  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac, 
startled  at  the  noise,  emerged  from  her  concealment. 

For  the  first  time  since  they  had  plighted  their  troth, 
'he  lovers  were  alone  together. 

But  under  what  different  circumstances!  What  an 
abyss  now  yawned  between  them ! 

"  Gabrielle!"  breathed  Raoul,  scarce  daring  to  believe 
his  senses.  "  Gabrielle,  or  is  it  her  spirit?" 

Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac  tried  to  speak,  but  the  words 
would  not  come. 

She  had  hoped  to  avoid  this,  but  fate  was  against 
her 


TWIXT    HAMMER    AND    ANVIL.  a$f 

Raoul  dashed  his  hand  across  his  eyes. 

"Ah,  I  remember  now,"  he  said.  "The  travelling 
carriage.  The  brigands!  The  fight!  We  were  four 
to  one !  I  received  a  pike  thrust  through  my  shoulder. 
You — you  were  in  the  carriage!  And  then,  the  woman 
leaning  over  me,  giving  me  to  drink!  For  the  mo- 
ment I  thought  I  had  opened  my  eyes  in  Paradise,  for 
they  rested  upon  the  heaven  of  your  face.  And  it  was 
no  dream?  You  are  there,  there  before  me " 

"Hush,  no  more,  I  implore  you!"  murmured  Gabri- 
elle,  interrupting  him  with  a  gesture  full  of  piteous  en- 
treaty. "You  are  out  of  danger.  Ask  no  more,  but 
leave  this  house." 

"  Leave  this  house!" 

"  Ah,  do  not  argue.     I " 

"Gabrielle!" 

He  advanced  toward  her,  his  eyes  aflame  with  love 
and  longing,  but,  with  a  quick  motion  she  avoided  him, 
and  fled  to  the  other  side  of  the  table,  as  if  to  make  the 
senseless  piece  of  wood  a  barrier  between  them. 

"Do  not  touch  me!"  she  cried,  pantingly.  "You 
must  not  touch  me !  There  is  blood  upon  your  hands, 
Raoul  de  Puycadere,  and  it  is  the  blood  of  my  kindred." 

With  a  low  cry  of  unutterable  anguish,  the  chevalier 
buried  his  face  in  his  hand. 

Then  almost  immediately  he  raised  his  head,  and 
spoke  rapidly,  indignantly,  and  with  an  increasing  and 
passionate  vehemence. 

"  You  wrong  me,  Gabrielle !  Paul  de  Bassompierre 
died  in  fair  fight,  weapon  to  weapon,  and  man  to  man! 
The  quarrel  was  none  of  my  seeking,  and  my  cause  was 
just." 

"  But  you  killed  him !  And  that  has  placed  between 
us  an  impassable  river  of  blood.  Leave  me!  It  is 


338  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

ended!  I  am  dead  to  this  world.  Shortly  I  shall  be  the 
bride  of  heaven." 

Raoul  listened  in  horrified  incredulity. 

"The  convent?"  he  gasped. 

She  bowed  her  head  in  silence. 

"You  will  die  to  this  world  because  there  crossed 
your  path  a  wretch  such  as  I !  No !  no !  It  cannot  be ! 
It  shall  not  be !  Not  the  bride  of  heaven,  Gabrielle, 
but  mine!  mine!" 

She  gave  him  one  passionately  mournful  look. 

"Yours!  Are  you  mad?  The  duchess  would  curse 
me!  I  should  curse  myself!  It  would  be  sacrilege!" 

"Sacrilege!" 

"  Yes,  upon  the  altar  steps  between  us  would  stand  a 
spectre — the  spectre  of  the  man  you  have  killed!" 

Every  word  she  spoke  was  like  a  bullet  in  his  heart. 
A  bullet?  No,  a  bullet  is  merciful — a  bullet  kills. 
And  he,  while  suffering  all  the  agonies  of  death,  still 
lived. 

But  he  would  not  relinquish  her,  not  at  least  without 
being  heard. 

"Gabrielle,  you  are  wrong!    Wrong!    Listen  to  me!" 

"In  mercy!" 

But  it  was  useless  to  attempt  to  stop  him  now.  He 
had  but  one  thought — to  win  her  to  him.  So,  in  a 
hoarse  whisper,  in  the  low,  quick  accents  of  a  desperate 
man,  he  pleaded  his  cause: 

"  I  must  speak — speak  though  I  die.  Since  the  day 
we  met  at  Saint-Germain,  I  loved  you,  Gabrielle,  and 
when  I  heard  your  voice  and  looked  upon  your  face,  I 
saw  the  light,  yes,  the  light  for  the  first  time — my  wild 
and  careless  past  rolled  suddenly  away,  like  the  trail  of 
a  storm  when  the  sun  rises  in  its  glory.  A  new  hope, 
a  new  ambition,  a  new  life  opened  itself  before  me.  I 


'TWIXT    HAMMER    AND    ANVIL.  339 

was  another  man,  changed  and  purified.  For  I  loved — 
and  I  Iffve .'" 

Gabrielle  had  listened  like  one  in  a  dream.  Raoul  had 
gradually  approached,  and  as  he  finished  he  seized  her 
hand,  but,  with  a  shiver,  she  drew  it  slowly  from  him. 

Half  mad  with  the  intensity  of  his  passion,  he  sank  at 
her  feet. 

"  If  it  is  happiness  for  a  woman  to  know  herself  be- 
loved," he  continued,  his  voice  sinking  almost  to  a  whis- 
per, "  to  know  that  in  a  cold  and  selfish  world  there 
still  exists  a  human  heart  that  beats  for  her  alone,  a 
heart  all  hers,  a  heart  into  which,  without  fear,  she 
might  pour  her  own,  her  hopes,  her  fears,  her  griefs, 
her  joys " 

"  Oh,  this  is  cruel, "  murmured  Gabrielle.  She  longed 
to  wrest  her  robe  from  his  grasp,  to  fly  anywhere — any- 
where to  escape  the  martyrdom  she  was  undergoing. 
But,  as  if  bound  by  a  spell,  she  felt  it  impossible  to 
move  hand  or  foot. 

"I  love  you,  Gabrielle,  and  such  a  heart  is  mine," 
went  on  the  imploring  voice,  so  bitter-sweet  to  her  ears. 
"  You  are  my  fate,  my  destiny !  Gabrielle,  Gabrielle, 
have  pity  on  me!  With  your  love,  I  am  all;  without 
your  love,  I  am — nothing!" 

His  voice  ceased,  and  for  an  instant  there  reigned  an 
intense  silence. 

Then  Gabrielle  drew  a  long,  shuddering  breath,  and 
with  an  effort  released  her  dress  from  the  chevalier's 
now  unresisting  hold. 

"  It  cannot  be,"  she  sighed,  faintly.  "  There  is  a  ton* 
between  us." 

Raoul  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  bitter  cry. 

"  A  tomb  that  shall  have  two  tenants,  then,  for  I  will 
not  live  without  you." 


340  A    GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

Had  he  but  known  it,  however,  he  was  nearer  win- 
ning  his  cause  than  it  seemed ;  and  had  he  been  aught 
else  than  her  lover,  he  would  have  seen  that  Gabrielle 
still  loved  him.  For,  save  to  the  eyes  of  the  interested 
parties,  whom  Cupid  delights  in  blinding,  love  is  of 
such  a  peculiar  nature  that  it  cannot  be  hidden  where 
,t  is,  nor  feigned  where  it  is  not. 

But  just  at  that  moment  came  through  the  open 
window  the  sound  of  shouts  and  tumult,  not  far  dis- 
tant. 

In  an  instant  Gabrielle  took  alarm,  and  she  awoke  to 
the  fact  that  danger  was  near. 

The  noise  must  mean  that  the  vicomte  was  discov- 
ered, pursued  perhaps.  He  might  return  at  any  mo- 
ment. 

"Quick,  you  must  away  at  once!"  she  said  to  Raoul, 
grasping  him  by  the  arm,  and  startling  him  with  her 
vehemence.  "  Do  you  hear  that  clamor?  Do  you  know 
what  it  means?  My  cousin  the  vicomte  was  here  but 
now.  He  is  flying  for  his  life,  and  he  has  been  discov- 
ered. The  Huguenots  were  victorious  at  La  Rochelle. " 

At  another  time  the  chevalier  would  have  rejoiced 
greatly  at  this  intelligence,  but  now  the  words  conveyed 
scarcely  any  meaning  to  his  brain. 

"  If  he  returns  and  finds  you  here,  he  will  kill  you. 
He  has  sworn  it." 

Raoul  smiled  slightly,  but  remained  immovable, 
with  his  arms  folded. 

"Ah!  I  understand,"  proceeded  Gabrielle  feverishly. 
"  But  you  are  weak,  wounded.  You  are  no  match  for 
him  now.  Your  horse  is  in  the  stable.  Descend  from 
the  room  there,  and  it  is  to  your  right.  Do  you  not 
hear  me?  Go! — Raoul!"  and  her  voice  rose  almost  to  a 
shriek.  "  For  your  own  sake !  For  mine  /" 


'TWIXT    HAMMER   AND   ANVIL.  34! 

Raoul  started,  his  whole  face  irradiated  with  joy. 

"  For  yours!     Ah!  you  love  me  then!" 

And  he  sprang  toward  her  and  encircled  her  with  his 
arms. 

"Do  not  turn  away,"  he  continued  with  passionate 
ardor.  "  But  let  your  eyes  look  into  mine,  thus!  thus! 
and  tell  me  that  you  love  me.  Speak,  Gabrielle!  tell 
me  that  you  love  me,  and  earth  has  nothing  left  to  offer, 
heaven  nothing  more  to  give!" 

Gabrielle  in  the  soft  intoxication  of  the  moment  had 
allowed  her  head  to  droop  upon  his  breast. 

"  I  love  you,"  she  murmured,  "  but — go!" 

He  strained  her  to  him,  raining  kisses  upon  her  eyes, 
her  forehead,  her  hair. 

"  I  obey,"  he  said  finally,  releasing  her.  "  But  I  shall 
see  you  soon  again. " 

"Yes,  yes!     Go!  go!"  she  murmured  faintly. 

In  another  moment  she  was  alone. 

But  not  for  long.  Raoul  had  scarcely  disappeared 
when  the  sound  of  footsteps  was  heard  ascending  the 
flight  of  steps  without,  and  shortly  Dame  Brigitte,  with 
flushed  face,  came  hurrying  through  the  window. 

"Gabrielle!  Gabrielle!"  she  exclaimed  panting  and 
out  of  breath.  "Your  cousin  was  discovered,  but  he 
lias  escaped." 

The  strain  upon  heart  and  brain  had  been  too  great 

Gabrielle  tottered  forward,  and  fell  into  the  nurse's 
arms — white,  inert,  unconscious. 
16 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

PLOT    AND   COUNTERPLOT. 

"  WILL  you  give  me  a  chamber  with  a  balcony  over* 
looking  the  square?" 

"Impossible,  monsieur.  I  have  only  two  small 
rooms  over  the  stable. " 

"  Over  the  stable?    You  are  jesting,  madame. " 

"  Nothing  could  be  truer.  If  monsieur  does  not  wish 
one  of  those,  he  must  go  elsewhere. " 

"Elsewhere?  Mordiou!  have  you  no  better  treat- 
ment for  an  old  friend,  madame?" 

And  the  man  who  had  reined  in  his  horse  in  front  of 
the  hostelry  of  the  Rising  Sun  quickly  threw  back  the 
brim  of  the  hat  which  had  shaded  his  face  and  rendered 
the  features  unrecognizable  in  the  deep  shadows  of  the 
late  afternoon. 

"  For  the  love  of  the  Madonna,  Monsieur  le  Chevalier, 
is  it  you?" 

And  Rose  Goujon's  pretty  face  sparkled  for  a  moment 
with  delight,  only  to  be  overshadowed  the  next  instant 
with  an  expression  of  alarm. 

She  ran  down  the  steps  of  the  inn  and  came  close  to 
the  chevalier's  saddle. 

"  Are  you  mad  to  come  here,  monsieur?"  she  asked, 
in  a  frightened  whisper. 

"Never  saner  in  my  life,  my  dear  Madame  Rose. 
Was  I  wrong  to  suppose  that  an  old  friend  would  give 
rce  shelter?" 


PLOT    AND    COUNTERPLOT.  843 

"  No,  no,  it  is  not  that.  But  do  you  not  know  there 
is  a  price  upon  your  head?  Even  now " 

"  It  would  be  even  more  dangerous  for  me  to  enter 
Paris  before  nightfall.  And  there  is  no  other  place 
where  I  can  find  shelter." 

"Dismount,  then,  monsieur.  Dismount  at  once! 
Here!  Pierre!  Jean!  Take  the  gentleman's  horse!" 

Speranza  was  led  away,  and  the  chevalier  followed 
Madame  Goujon  into  the  inn. 

With  a  word  or  two  counselling  caution,  the  little 
landlady  led  the  way  up  a  flight  of  stairs  to  the  second 
story  and  then  down  a  long  corridor,  at  the  very  end  of 
which  she  threw  open  a  door  and  bade  her  guest  enter. 

The  room  in  which  the  chevalier  found  himself  was 
large  and  better  furnished  than  the  majority  of  apart- 
ments even  in  auberges  of  the  better  class.  Many  femi- 
nine articles  scattered  about  showed  that  it  had  been 
lately  occupied  by  a  woman. 

Rose,  who  had  entered  also  and  closed  the  door  with 
care  behind  her,  said  with  a  blush : 

"  This  is  my  room,  Monsieur  le  Chevalier.  It  is  the 
only  one  I  have  empty  in  the  house.  And,  besides,  you 
will  be  safer  here  than  anywhere  else.  But  I  hoped  you 
were  far  away.  What  has  brought  you  into  danger?" 

"  My  duty,  my  dear  madame." 

"  But  if  you  are  discovered,  your  life  will  be  the  for- 
feit." 

"Mordiou!  I  must  take  the  risk,"  he  replied,  with 
something  of  his  old-time  insouciance.  "  For  those  who 
set  too  great  a  store  upon  it,  life  is  like  one  of  those 
precious  objects  which  are  never  used  for  fear  that  some 
harm  may  come  to  them.  But  it  is  ten  days  since  I 
have  been  here.  What  news  in  Paris?" 

"  None.     All  is  quiet,  now.     But  there  was  a  great 


244  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

hue  and  cry  after  your  escape,  monsieur.  And  oh!** 
clasping  her  hands  nervously,  "I  was  so  alarmed  for 
you!" 

"  My  good  friend !  Without  your  aid  in  the  begin- 
ning, I  could  have  accomplished  nothing.  And  your 
excellent  husband,  whose  particular  enmity  I  seem  tc 
have  incurred — what  of  him?" 

Madame  Rose's  lip  curled,  and  she  made  a  gesture  oi 
anger  and  disgust. 

"  Not  a  sign  have  I  seen  of  him  until  last  night,  when 
he  came  here,  a  wine-butt  as  usual  and  pale  with  fright, 
declaring  that  some  demon  with  fiery  red  hair  had  pur- 
sued  him  through  the  streets." 

The  chevalier  laughed  heartily. 

"A  scalded  cat  dreads  cold  water,"  he  said,  recogniz- 
ing some  mischievous  trick  played  upon  the  sergeant  by 
his  friend  Pharos. 

"That  was  nothing  to  what  he  received  from  me," 
observed  Rose,  laughing  a  little  too.  "  By  the  beard  of 
St.  Bridget !  to  use  his  own  expression,  he  passed  a  very 
bad  quarter  of  an  hour,  I  can  assure  you.  But,"  inter- 
rupting herself,  with  her  finger  upon  her  lips,  "  mon- 
sieur must  be  cautious.  Goujon  is  in  the  house  now, 
and — and " 

"  Have  no  fear.  I  will  run  no  unnecessary  risks. 
As  soon  as  it  is  entirely  dark,  I  trust  to  you  to  let  me 
know  when  the  road  is  clear,  that  I  may  proceed  to 
Paris." 

"  Ay,  that  will  I  do.  I  will  have  eyes  and  ears  on  all 
sides  of  my  head.  But  monsieur  needs  refreshment. 
Remain  quietly  here,  and  I  will  be  back  as  quickly  as 
possible. " 

And  the  good  little  woman  bustled  away,  on  hospita- 
ble thoughts  intent 


PLOT    AND    COUNTERPLOT.  §45 

After  the  chevalier  had  left  the  presence  of  Gabri- 
elle  (at  her  command)  a  bird  of  rare  melody  was  singing 
in  his  heart.  She  loved  him  still,  and,  that  being  the 
case,  all  barriers  between  them  would  soon  be  removed. 

He  descended  the  outer  staircase  and  experienced  no 
difficulty  in  finding  the  stable,  where  Speranza  neighed 
joyfully  at  his  approach. 

Not  a  living  soul  was  about,  but  it  was  the  work  of 
only  a  few  moments  to  saddle  and  bridle  the  mare.  He 
vaulted  upon  her  back,  and  was  soon  out  of  the  grounds 
and  galloping  along  the  highway. 

That  day  he  proceeded  no  further  than  Seuil,  where 
he  also  passed  the  ensuing  night. 

The  little  village  was  in  a  state  of  uproarious  excite- 
ment. 

Fragmentary  detachments  of  the  royal  troops  had 
passed  through  there  that  day,  hotly  pursued  by  the 
Huguenots. 

In  the  evening  there  were  bonfires  and  illuminations 
in  celebration  of  the  victory,  and  all  the  inhabitants 
seemed  to  go  mad  with  enthusiasm. 

Tongues  were  loosened.  All  loyalty  to  the  king  of 
France  was  thrown  to  the  winds,  and  on  every  side  were 
heard  denunciations  of  "the  Italian  woman,"  the  Duke 
of  Guise,  and  the  king  himself. 

Truly,  the  wish  of  Charles  IX.  had  not  come  to  pass. 
"  Kill,  if  you  like,  but  let  not  a  Huguenot  be  left  to  re- 
proach me. " 

The  following  day  the  chevalier  resumed  his  jour- 
ney, but  not  by  the  road  he  had  previously  taken.  This 
would  not  be  safe,  should  further  troops  be  sent  to  en- 
force obedience  from  the  rebellious  citizens  of  La  Ro- 
chelle,  as  was  not  at  all  improbable. 

Therefore  he  took  a  more  northern  course,  through 


940  A  GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

Anjou  and  Maine.  His  wound  still  troubled  him  some- 
what, so  he  proceeded  by  easy  stages,  the  journey  occu- 
pying some  five  or  six  days,  and,  as  we  have  seen, 
finally  reached  Saint  Germain,  where  he  decided  to 
avail  himself  of  the  kindness  of  Madame  Rose  until 
he  could  enter  Paris  under  cover  of  the  darkness. 

The  little  landlady  was  not  long  in  returning  with  a 
tempting  meal,  the  odors  of  which  were  like  incense  in 
the  nostrils  of  the  hungry  chevalier. 

"Mordiou,  Madame  Rose,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh. 
"  You  must  be  the  ruin  of  all  innkeepers  if  you  treat 
your  other  guests  as  you  do  me.  You  should  have  the 
whole  custom  of  the  countryside,  though,  by  my  faith, 
a  sight  of  your  face  would  be  meat  and  drink  to  most 
men. " 

Madame  Rose  blushed  and  bridled.  She  was  suscep- 
tible enough  to  compliments,  but  words  of  praise  from 
the  young  Gascon  who  had  so  taken  her  fancy  were  es- 
pecially sweet  in  her  ears.  Besides  she  had  been  of 
service  to  him,  and  while  the  recipient  of  a  favor  al- 
most always  is  inclined  to  look  upon  his  benefactor  with 
a  certain  impatient  feeling,  born  of  the  sense  of  obliga- 
tion, there  is  generally  inspired  in  us  a  decided  senti- 
ment of  tenderness  toward  those  we  have  benefited. 

Moreover,  as  a  maiden,  Rose  had  had  her  dreams, 
dreams  woefully  shattered  by  the  reality  of  her  own  mar- 
ried life,  and  Raoul  de  Puycadere  both  in  person  and 
character  fulfilled  all  her  ideas  of  a  hero  of  romance. 

She  turned  the  subject,  however,  by  saying: 

"  The  gypsies  were  here  yesterday,  and  I  asked  Mirza 
of  you.  She  told  me  of  your  escape  from  the  Chatelet 
and  of  your  departure  from  Paris." 

"  Mirza !  She  and  her  tribe  have  been  good  friends 
to  me. 


PLOT    AND   COUNTERPLOT.  247 

"  And  you  must  return  to  Paris  to-night?" 

"  Beyond  any  doubt." 

"Then  Goujon  remains  here,  if  I  can  make  him!" 
And  she  looked  quite  capable  of  carrying  out  her  deter- 
mination. 

After  the  chevalier  had  finished  his  repast,  Madame 
Goujon  gathered  together  the  remnants  and  removed 
them  from  the  room,  first  warning  him  to  keep  close 
and  on  no  account  to  leave  his  place  of  concealment 
until  she  should  summon  him. 

After  Madame  Goujon  had  disappeared,  leaving  be- 
hind, however,  a  bottle  of  good  wine  as  a  consolation, 
Raoul  gave  himself  up  to  his  reflections,  which  were 
not  altogether  disagreeable  ones.  He  was  by  no  means 
blind  to  the  danger  of  his  position,  and  he  was  not  quite 
sure  how  he  was  to  escape  from  his  complications,  even 
with  the  aid  of  the  friendship  of  the  King  of  Navarre. 
But  that  he  would  conquer  in  the  end,  he  was  resolved. 
Gabrielle  loved  him,  loved  him  in  spite  of  all,  and, 
with  this  star  of  hope  shining  brightly  before  him,  what 
could  he  not  accomplish?  Then  his  mind  turned  to- 
ward Master  Pare,  whose  brief  enigmatical  utterances 
in  the  basement  of  the  unfinished  house  the  last  night 
he  was  in  Paris  seemed  to  promise  so  much.  And  yet 
what  could  he  do  in  a  case  where  Henri  de  Bourbon 
was  powerless?  Had  he,  as  the  king's  physician,  and 
in  high  favor  with  his  Majesty,  and,  what  was  of  more 
moment,  with  the  power  behind  the  throne,  with  the 
queen-mother,  some  secret  information  which 

At  this  point  in  his  musing,  the  chevalier  suddenly 
became  aware  of  voices  in  heated  altercation  in  the  next 
room,  between  which  and  the  apartment  he  was  in  was 
a  connecting  door.  Distinctly  to  his  ears  came  the 
words: 


248  A  GENTLEMAN  FROM  GASCONY. 

"  It  is  a  dangerous  business,  monseigneur,  and,  should 
it  succeed,  I  claim  my  reward. " 

The  voice  was  a  familiar,  one  to  De  Puycadere,  and 
in  an  instant  it  flashed  across  him  that  the  speaker  was 
the  Vicomte  de  Vrissac. 

So!  Gabrielle  was  mistaken,  after  all.  Her  cousin 
had  not  been  pursued,  or,  at  all  events,  not  captured, 
and  had  managed  to  make  his  escape. 

Raoul  left  his  chair,  and  made  his  way  stealthily 
across  the  floor  to  the  door,  which  was  apparently  of  no 
great  thickness,  as  he  could  hear  almost  every  syllable 
that  was  spoken  in  the  adjoining  room,  low  as  the  words 
were  uttered.  As  he  reached  the  place,  another  person 
was  speaking. 

"  You  need  have  no  fear,  Monsieur  le  Vicomte.  The 
king  will  recognize  your  services,  and  they  are  inesti- 
mable to  church  and  state." 

Raoul  started.  Where  had  he  heard  that  voice  be- 
fore, and  in  tones  of  command? 

"  All  that  I  need,  monseigneur,  is  your  warranty. " 

"  You  have  that,  and  you  shall  have  more.  I  do  not 
disguise  from  you,  Monsieur  le  Vicomte,  th&t  the  fail- 
ure to  subdue  the  rebels  at  La  Rochelle  is  a  blow  to  our 
cause,  but  it  is  only  temporary.  The  accursed  heretics 
will  be  subdued,  when  this,  their  leader,  is  silenced. 
It  was  a  mistake  to  spare  him  at  Saint  Bartholomew, 
but,  with  your  aid,  that  mistake  will  soon  be  rectified. 
Coligny  is  gone,  and  to-night  the  Prince  of  Be"arn  will 
also  be — removed." 

Raoul  recognized  the  voice.  It  was  that  of  the  leader 
of  Saint  Bartholomew.  He  had  heard  it  last  at  the 
house  of  Admiral  Coligny  on  the  night  of  the  massacre. 
The  speaker  was  the  Duke  of  Guise. 

The  discovery  was  a  startling  one  to  the  chevalier, 


PLOT    AND    COUNTERPLOT.  349 

especially  as,  judging  from  the  few  words  he  had  caught, 
some  plot  was  on  foot  against  his  master,  the  King 
of  Navarre. 

He  pressed  his  ear  closer  to  the  panels,  and  listened 
intently,  all  his  senses  on  the  alert. 

"You  are  sure,  monseigneur,"  said  the  vicomte, 
"  that  to-night  the  so-called  King  of  Navarre  will  be 
in  the  chamber  of  Queen  Marguerite?" 

"  Sure,  unless  some  unfortunate  contretemps  should 
occur.  The  two  letters  are  perfect  specimens  of  their 
kind,  the  handwriting  has  been  imitated  perfectly.  He 
will  be  alone,  and,  if  your  companions  are  trusty,  your 
task  should  be  an  easy  one. " 

"  I  will  answer  for  them.  Is  King  Charles  cognizant 
of  our  plan?" 

"  No.  But"  and  there  was  a  world  of  meaning  in  the 
emphasis  the  Duke  placed  upon  that  little  word — "But 
Catherine  de  Medicis  is.  In  proof  of  which  her  Majesty 
requested  me  to  give  you  this  ring.  Present  it  to  her 
afterward,  and  ask  any  favor  you  desire. " 

"  Has  your  grace  any  further  orders?"  And  there 
was  a  ring  •£  gratified  triumph  in  the  tone  in  which  the 
vicomte  asked  the  question. 

"  None !  Stay !  In  case  aught  should  miscarry,  meet 
me  to-night  beneath  the  apartments  of  the  Queen  of 
Navarre  at  ten  of  the  clock.  You  know  the  place?" 

"  Beyond  the  moat,  near  the  northern  gate?" 

"  Exactly.     Then,  if— 

At  this  point,  the  chevalier,  whose  whole  attention 
had  been  absorbed  by  the  conversation,  was  startled  by 
the  sudden  opening  of  the  other  door  of  the  room  he 
was  in,  the  one  which  led  into  the  corridor. 

He  raised  his  head  quickly,  but,  as  he  did  so,  his  foot 
slipped  upon  the  smooth,  polished  floor,  and  he  stum- 


350  A    GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

bled  with  a  resounding  noise  against  the  panels  of  the 
door  at  which  he  had  been  listening. 

For  an  instant  there  was  silence,  and  then  there  was 
a  rush  of  feet,  and  the  door  was  roughly  shaken  on  the 
other  side. 

"Quick!  quick,  monsieur!  Hide  here!"  whispered 
Rose  Goujon,  for  it  was  she  whose  entrance  had  inter- 
rupted the  chevalier's  eavesdropping. 

As  she  spoke,  she  flung  open  the  door  of  a  wardrobe. 

The  chevalier  obeyed  without  a  word,  believing  in 
this  case  discretion  to  be  the  better  part  of  valor. 

No  sooner  was  he  safely  hidden,  than  Rose  ran  to  the 
door,  which  was  still  being  pounded  upon,  and,  unbar- 
ring it,  flung  it  open,  revealing  the  angry  and  alarmed 
countenances  of  the  Duke  de  Guise  and  the  Vicomte  de 
Vrissac. 

Both  gentlemen  looked  with  astonishment  and  also 
with  evident  relief  upon  the  smiling  face  of  the  little 
landlady. 

"  You !" 

"  I,  gentlemen.  Pardon  me  for  startling  you,  but  this 
floor  was  polished  only  this  morning  and  I  stumbled." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  in  this  room?"  asked  the 
Duke  de  Guise,  whose  suspicions  were  not  wholly 
allayed. 

"Not  three  minutes,  monseigneur, "  replied  Rose, 
truthfully. 

"And  there  is  no  one  else  here?"  demanded  the 
yicomte,  advancing  a  step  or  two  into  the  room. 

Rose  looked  at  him  with  admirably  simulated  indig- 
nation. 

"Would  you  insult  me,  Monsieur  le  Vicomte?  This 
is  my  own  chamber,  and  no  one  would  dare  to  enter 
here,  not  even  Goujon  himself." 


PLOT    AND   COUNTERPLOT.  351 

The  duke  glanced  at  her  keenly,  nodded  his  head, 
and  then,  turning  to  his  companion,  said  in  Spanish : 

"  She  is  speaking  the  truth.     She  knows  nothing. " 

"  But, "  he  added,  in  French,  as  he  turned  to  leave  the 
room,  "  beware  of  curiosity,  madame.  The  first  woman 
lost  humanity  because  she  wanted  to  know  what  it  was 
forbidden  her  to  know. " 

"  I  have  no  curiosity  for  matters  that  do  not  concern 
me,  monseigneur. " 

The  two  conspirators  returned  to  the  next  room,  and 
Rose,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  closed  and  barred  the  door. 

Then  she  hastened  to  release  the  chevalier  from  the 
wardrobe. 

"Now  is  your  time,  monsieur,"  she  said.  "Your 
horse  is  ready  in  the  passage  behind  the  house.  But 
one  word  of  warning  before  you  go.  My  husband  has 
given  me  the  slip.  He  went  to  the  stables  an  hour  ago, 
ordered  a  horse  saddled,  and  the  hostler  said  he  rode 
away  in  the  direction  of  Paris.  Whether  he  has  any 
suspicion  of  your  presence  here  or  not,  I  do  not  know. 
But  be  on  your  guard.  Do  not  expose  yourself." 

"  I  will  remember. " 

"And  there  is  another  thing  I  will  remember  also," 
he  muttered  beneath  his  breath,  as  he  glanced  toward 
the  door  which  separated  him  from  the  duke  and  the 
vicomte.  "  So,  Monseigneur  de  Guise,  you  would  plot 
against  Henri  of  Navarre,  would  you?  But  you  have 
not  taken  me  into  your  reckoning,  and  there  will  be  aa 
unbidden  guest  at  your  rendezvous  to-night!" 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

BELOW    THE    QUEEN *S   BALCONY. 

A  COLD  drizzling  rain,  blurring  the  outlines  of  trees 
and  buildings,  was  falling  when  the  chevalier  rode 
slowly  into  Paris,  past  the  sentinels  at  the  Saint  An- 
toine  gate. 

He  had  ridden  only  a  few  paces  beyond  the  gateway, 
when  the  bell  from  a  neighboring  tower  tolled  the 
hour  of  nine.  It  wanted  an  hour  yet  before  the  time 
appointed  by  the  conspirators  for  their  rendezvous,  but 
it  behooved  Raoul  to  be  concealed  somewhere  near  be- 
fore they  could  arrive. 

He  must  overhear  their  conversation  and  know  all  the 
details  of  the  plot,  in  order  the  better  to  frustrate  it. 

He  was  just  about  to  put  the  spur  to  Speranza,  when 
out  of  the  shadow  of  a  house  close  by  darted  a  dark 
figure  and  laid  its  hand  on  the  horse's  bridle. 

Raoul  was  about  to  strike  the  intruder  over  the  head 
with  his  riding-whip,  when  a  few  words  spoken  in  a 
low  voice  caused  him  to  change  his  intention. 

"  Hist!     Is  it  you,  Monsieur  le  Chevalier!" 

And  looking  down  he  recognized,  in  spite  of  the  dark- 
ness, the  form  of  Mirza,  the  gypsy  girl,  standing  close 
at  his  side. 

"  Mirza?" 

"Ah!  it  is  you,"  she  exclaimed,  joyfully,  but  without 
raising  her  voice.  "  For  two  days,  Pharos  and  I  have 
kept  watch  for  you  as  near  the  gate  as  we  dared. " 


BELOW    THE   QUEEN 's   BALCONY.  253 

"What's  in  the  wind?"  asked  Raoul  quickly,  scenting 
danger. 

"  You  must  not  go  to  the  Green  Dragon,  monsieur." 

"  Why  not?" 

"  Beppa  is  suspected  of  giving  you  shelter,  and  the 
house  is  watched.  It's  that  wretch  Goujon's  doing." 

"  But " 

"  We  have  arranged  it  all,  monsieur — Pharos  and  I. 
You  must  come  with  us  at  once. " 

"Impossible,"  said  the  chevalier,  remembering  all 
that  he  had  to  do  that  night. 

"  Impossible?" 

"  Yes.  I  must  to  the  Louvre  without  delay.  It  is  a 
matter  of  life  and  death. " 

As  he  spoke,  he  remembered  that  he  could  not  ride 
his  horse  to  the  Louvre  and  hope  to  remain  concealed. 

Leaping  from  Speranza's  back,  he  addressed  Pharos, 
who  still  remained  at  the  mare's  head: 

"  My  good  friend,  will  you  take  care  of  this  animal 
for  me  till  I  need  her  again — and — and  if  aught  should 
happen  to  me  this  night,  keep  her  in  remembrance  of 
me." 

"  Monsieur,  you  are  incurring  danger  again?"  asked 
Mirza,  in  a  trembling  voice. 

"  In  these  days,  one  is  always  in  danger, "  returned 
the  chevalier,  lightly.  "And  now  away,  my  friend!" 

Without  a  word,  Pharos  vaulted  into  the  saddle,  and 
in  another  moment  both  horse  and  man  had  disappeared 
around  a  neighboring  corner. 

The  chevalier  turned  to  move  away  also,  but  Mirza 
detained  him. 

"Only  one  moment,  monsieur.  You  do  not  know 
where  to  find  us. " 

"Ah,  true!     Well?" 


254  A  GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

"  Come  to  the  Rue  du  Moulin,  close  to  the  Passage 
des  Rois.  Come  at  any  time  during  the  night  or  day, 
and  some  one  of  us  will  be  on  the  watch  to  guide  you. " 

"Thanks.     I  shall  remember." 

And  again  Raoul  started  to  go. 

"  But,  monsieur,  I  have  news  for  you.  News  of 
Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac. " 

The  chevalier  stopped  short.  Even  the  important 
business  he  had  on  hand  must  be  deferred  at  the  magic 
of  that  name. 

"  News — news  of  her !"  he  cried,  eagerly.  "  Speak ! 
speak,  Mirza." 

"  She  has  returned  to  Paris." 

"Ah!" 

"Yesterday,  while  on  the  lookout  for  you,  I  saw  a 
travelling  carriage  pass  through  the  gate  yonder,  and 
within  was  mademoiselle. " 

Raoul  breathed  a  silent  prayer  of  thanksgiving  that 
she  was  no  longer  in  that  country  of  the  South,  racked 
as  it  was  by  civil  war. 

"  Was  she  alone?"  he  asked. 

"  No.     Her  duenna  was  with  her." 

"  No  one  else?" 

"  No  one  else,  monsieur. " 

Then  the  vicomte  had  not  returned  with  her,  and 
this  was  balm  to  the  chevalier's  jealous  heart. 

"  Listen,  Mirza,"  he  said,  rapidly.  "  If  all  goes  well, 
I  shall  be  with  you  by  midnight,  and  to-morrow  I  must 
see  her.  Watch  for  me,  find  out  if  possible  when  she  is 
alone,  and  how  I  can  approach  her.  Will  you  do  this?" 

"Yes,  monsieur,  yes.  Good-night,  and  God  speed 
you!" 

And  the  Tzigana  flitted  away,  and  was  soon  lost  in 
the  mist 


BELOW    THE   QUEEN  *S  BALCONY.  155 

Raoul  wrapped  his  cloak  well  about  him  and  strode 
away  toward  the  Louvre.  After  a  quarter  of  an  hour's 
rapid  walking  the  palace  loomed  up  before  him,  a 
blurred  indistinct  mass,  through  the  fog. 

It  had  ceased  raining,  and  the  moon  was  making  a 
first  feeble  attempt  to  struggle  through  the  clouds. 

"  Beneath  the  apartments  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre," 
the  Duke  of  Guise  had  said. 

And  the  vicomte  had  described  these  apartments  as 
beyond  the  moat  near  the  northern  gate. 

Raoul  made  his  way  about  the  building  until  he  came 
to  the  gate  designated. 

A  sentinel  was  there,  pacing  back  and  forth. 

How  to  pass  him? 

Suddenly  a  window  was  thrown  up  in  the  little 
guard-house  and  some  one  called:  "Maury!" 

The  sentinel  approached  the  window  and  looked  in, 
his  back  to  Raoul.  The  latter  was  quick  to  see  his  op- 
portunity, and,  slipping  noiselessly  past  the  sentry,  he 
entered  the  gate  and  crept  cautiously  along  in  the 
shadow  of  the  palace  walls. 

The  whole  vast  facade  was  in  darkness,  save  where  a 
light  burned  dimly  in  one  balconied  window. 

This  must  be  the  place. 

But  how  to  hide?  The  moon  was  now  out,  and  its 
clear  rays  were  illuminating  more  and  more  brilliantly 
the  scene. 

There  was  not  a  nook  capable  of  offering  concealment. 

Beneath  the  queen's  balcony  was  a  moat  some  ten 
feet  wide  and  filled  with  water.  This  was  flanked,  on 
the  side  where  Raoul  was  standing,  by  a  low  parapet 
not  more  than  a  foot  high. 

While  he  was  considering  what  to  do,  the  sound  of 
approaching  footsteps  fell  upon  his  ear. 


25^  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

No  more  time  to  waste.  Something  must  be  done 
and  at  once. 

Raoul  glanced  over  the  parapet.  On  the  other  side 
was  a  descent  to  the  moat  of  perhaps  five  feet,  and  there 
was  a  narrow,  a  very  narrow  strip  of  ground  between 
.;ie  water  and  the  foot  of  the  wall. 

Placing  one  hand  upon  the  parapet,  he  vaulted  lightly 
over,  and  managed  to  obtain  a  footing. 

He  was  obliged  to  stoop  a  little,  however,  in  order  to 
prevent  his  head  appearing  above  the  stone-work. 

He  was  in  shadow  and  would  probably  not  be  dis- 
covered, unless  some  prying  eye  should  scrutinize  the 
place  too  closely. 

The  men  he  had  heard  coming  approached  swiftly, 
and  paused  just  above  him. 

"  This  is  the  place,"  said  one,  in  a  low  tone.  "  There 
is  the  Queen's  balcony.  But  where  Is  the  duke?" 

"Hush!  No  names!"  said  another,  whose  voice  the 
chevalier  recognized  as  that  of  the  Vicomte  de  Vrissac. 
"  He  will  be  here  presently." 

As  he  spoke,  he  seated  himself  on  the  low  parapet, 
almost  immediately  above  the  head  of  the  man  crouch- 
ing below. 

The  Gascon  scarce  dared  to  breathe  for  fear  of  be- 
traying himself.  His  position  was  most  uncomfortable, 
md  he  wondered  how  long  he  should  be  able  to  retain 
it,  if  the  duke  should  delay. 

This  was  not  the  case,  however,  for  it  was  a  very 
short  time  before  a  rapid  footstep  was  heard  drawing 
near. 

The  vicomte  rose  to  his  feet,  advancing  a  step  to 
meet  the  new-comer,  and  Raoul  dared  to  change  his 
position  a  little.  Then  he  strained  his  ears  in  order 
not  to  lose  a  syllable. 


3ELOW    THE   QUEEN'S   BALCONY.  257 

"Ah!  gentlemen,  you  are  prompt  to  the  rendezvous, " 
began  Guise.  "Vicomte,  do  they  know  why  I  have 
summoned  here  four  trusty  swords,  as  I  know  theirs  to 
be?" 

"  Yes,  monseigneur.  We  are  all  blindly  at  your  dis- 
posal, and  only  await  your  will." 

"By  the  beard  of  Saint  Bridget!  your  grace,  we  are 
your  faithful  subjects." 

Raoul  recognized  that  voice,  and  thought  to  himself 
that  he  was  not  surprised  that  Goujon  should  be  one  of 
the  company  when  any  foul  deed  was  to  be  done, 
although  he  would  probably,  for  the  sake  of  his  skin, 
be  a  looker-on  rather  than  a  participant. 

"  You  will  not  have  long  to  wait  now,"  said  the  duke. 
"The  corridors  are  clear,  and  I  will  lead  you  to  the 
apartment  where  the  cursed  Be"arnais  is.  It  will  be 
best  for  me  not  to  enter,  for  the  sake  of  the  future,  much 
as  I  should  like  to  give  him  the  coup  de  grdce  myself." 

"You  can  trust  us  for  that,  monseigneur,"  remarked 
De  Vrissac;  "even,"  and  he  hesitated  a  little,  "even  as 
we  trust  you  to  hold  us  scatheless  and  to  see  that  we 
obtain  our  just  dues  in  the  future." 

"You  have  my  word  for  that,"  replied  the  other,  a 
trifle  haughtily.  "  And  if  the  word  of  a  Guise  is  not 
sufficient,  you  can  rely  upon  the  gratitude  of  one  who  is 
higher  in  power  than  I  am — now" 

"  That  is  more  than  enough.  Pardon  us,  your  grace, 
we  did  not  mean  to  doubt " 

'•  By  the  corns  of  Saint  Ursula,  no!" 

"Enough!  enough!"  interrupted  Guise,  impatiently. 
"We  understand  one  another.  Within  the  half-hour 
France  will  be  free  from  her  worst  curse,  the  Prince  of 
Be"ara  will  have  ceased  to  live.  Woe  to  you,  if  you  let 
him  escape  your  daggers!" 


258  A  GENTLEMAN  FROM  GASCONY. 

A  shiver  of  horror  and  indignation  ran  over  the  lis- 
tening chevalier.  So!  His  suspicions  were  correct. 
If  there  had  been  any  doubt  of  it  before,  there  was  none 
now.  This  was  a  conspiracy  to  assassinate  the  King  of 
Navarre. 

"See!  He  is  there!"  continued  the  duke.  "Do  you 
see  that  long,  black  silhouette  against  the  window? 
It  is  our  man.  No  other  in  Paris  has  a  nose  like  that. 
Come ! — no !  one  moment.  Leave  one  of  your  men  here. 
When  the  deed  is  done,  wave  your  hand  from  the  bal- 
cony yonder.  Then  let  him  come  to  me  with  the  news 
at  the  grand  entrance  of  the  Louvre." 

There  was  a  quick  command  from  the  vicomte,  and 
then  all  the  men  but  one  moved  away  on  their  errand 
of  blood. 

Raoul  remained  quiet  until  he  was  sure  that  they 
were  out  of  hearing,  and  then  he  raised  his  head  cau- 
tiously until  his  eyes  were  above  the  parapet. 

Standing  with  his  back  toward  him  was  a  squat, 
rotund  figure  which  could  be  no  other  than  that  of  the 
redoubtable  Sergeant  Goujon. 

At  once  Raoul' s  resolution  was  taken,  and  to  resolve 
was  to  act.  First  unloosening  with  quick,  nervous  fin- 
gers the  scarf  he  wore  about  his  waist  above  his  sword- 
belt,  he  then  lifted  himself  carefully  over  the  parapet. 

With  cat-like  step  he  approached  the  sergeant,  but 
just  as  he  was  two  paces  from  him  the  latter  turned. 

With  a  bound  Raoul  was  upon  him  and,  before  he 
could  make  any  outcry  whatever,  had  caught  him  by 
the  neck  with  one  hand,  and  deftly  wound  the  scarf 
about  his  mouth  with  the  other,  thus  effectually  gag- 
ging him. 

Then  pushing  the  terrified  man  toward  the  parapet, 
by  main  strength  he  flung  him  over  into  the  moat  beloir. 


BELOW    THE   QUEEN'S   BALCONY.  859 

So  far,  so  good !  But  the  King  of  Navarre  must  be 
warned  at  once.  It  was  useless  to  follow  the  conspira- 
tors. There  was  but  one  way — to  scale  the  balcony  by 
means  of  the  thick  ivy  which  clung  close  to  the  walls. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  the  Gascon  leaped 
over  the  parapet  and  dashed  into  the  water.  He  could 
see  the  sergeant  struggling  a  few  yards  below  him. 

Two  or  three  strokes  brought  him  to  the  other  side. 
Seizing  the  ivy,  he  began  to  mount,  clinging  to  the 
branches  with  hands  and  feet. 

It  was  slow  and  painful  work,  and  he  was  not  more 
than  half-way  to  the  top,  when  he  became  aware  of  the 
approach  of  a  sentinel  on  the  other  side  of  the  moat. 

Shaking  the  ivy  over  him,  he  paused  in  his  ascent 
and  remained  motionless. 

The  sentinel  passed  on,  and  Raoul  heard  with  a  sigh 
of  relief  some  distance  away  the  cry: 

"  Half  after  ten,  and  all's  well!" 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 
"THE  KING  OF  NAVARRE  is  HERE!" 

MARGUERITE  DE  VALOIS,  Princess  of  France  and  Queen 
of  Navarre,  was  alone  in  her  apartment  in  the  Louvre. 

She  had  dismissed  her  ladies  of  honor,  and  now  was 
pacing  up  and  down  the  room,  her  dark,  level  brows 
contracted  in  thought  over  her  brilliant  eyes. 

Very  lovely  she  looked,  this  star  of  the  court,  in  her 
simple  robe  of  violet  satin,  with  no  ornaments  save  a 
richly  jewelled  dagger  which  served  to  confine  the  bod- 
ice of  her  gown  and  which  had  been  presented  to  her 
by  her  mother.  It  was  a  relic  of  the  great  De  Medici 
family  of  Florence,  and,  could  it  have  spoken,  what 
strange  tales  it  might  have  told ! 

Ever  and  anon  she  consulted  a  paper  she  held  in  her 
hand  and  on  which  were  written  these  words  : 

"I  beg  you  to  receive  me  to-night  at  ten  o'clock 
alone.  I  should  not  so  far  presume  were  it  not  a  matter 
of  vast  importance  on  which  I  wish  to  consult  your 
Majesty."  HENRI  OF  NAVARRE." 

What  could  her  husband  have  to  say  to  her  to  neces- 
sitate the  writing  of  such  a  note?  Were  new  plots  on 
foot? 

She  knew  the  queen-mother  and  the  Duke  of  Guise 
were  his  deadly  enemies,  and  nothing  was  less  likely 
than  for  them  to  rest  without  making  further  effort  to 
remove  the  King  of  Navarre  from  the  vicinity  of  the 


"THE  KING  OP  NAVARRE  is  HERE!"  261 

King  of  France,  over  whom  he  was  rapidly  acquiring 
an  influence. 

She  had  promised  her  husband  to  be  his  ally,  and  she 
would  keep  her  word,  so  far  as  lay  in  her  power.  How 
gallant  he  was !  How  brave !  How  different  from  the 
perfumed  butterflies  of  the  court!  Each  day  she  re- 
spected and  admired  him  the  more.  Respect!  Ad- 
miration !  Was  it  not  rather 

But  here  she  checked  her  thoughts,  and  the  bright 
color  rushed  hotly  to  her  beautiful  cheeks.  Then  she 
laughed  aloud.  What  a  subject  for  the  satire  of  Mon- 
sieur de  Brantome !  What,  was  the  pearl  of  the  court  of 
France,  at  whose  feet  had  sighed  innumerable  adorers, 
about  to  fall  in  love  with  her  own  husband,  and  a  man 
too  who  had  confessedly  married  her  for  motives  of 
policy? 

It  was  too  absurd. 

And  yet  why  this  quickened  beating  of  the  heart  at 
the  thought  of  the  interview  requested  of  her? 

A  low  tap  upon  the  door  interrupted  her  reflections. 
She  crossed  the  room  to  open  it  herself  and  to  admit  the 
very  man  she  had  been  thinking  of. 

There  was  a  happy  look  in  the  King  of  Navarre's 
eyes  and  a  smile  played  about  his  thin  lips. 

"  May  I  enter?" 

"  Why  not?     It  is  your  Majesty's  right." 

"  A  right  that  I  should  never  seek  to  enforce  without 
your  permission. " 

"  If  that  is  all  that  is  required,  enter  freely,  sire." 

The  king  crossed  the  threshold  of  his  wife's  apart- 
ment for  the  first  time,  and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

"  Your  Majesty  looks  happy  to-night!"  observed  Mar- 
guerite, a  little  embarrassed,  and,  wondering  more  than 
ever  what  the  coming  interview  might  portend. 


26l  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

"And  well  I  might,  madame.  Where  think  you  I 
have  been  to-night?" 

"  How  should  I  know?" 

Henri's  brow  clouded  a  little. 

"  True !"  he  said,  with  just  a  suspicion  of  reproach  in 
his  tone.  "  You  would  be  the  last  to  know  of  my  goings 
and  comings,  and  perhaps  even  to  be  interested  in 
them. " 

"You  wrong  me,  sire." 

"  So!    Then  I  will  tell  you.     To  consult  R€neV' 

"  My  mother's  astrologer?" 

"Exactly." 

"  And  what  did  he  say?    Did  he  cast  your  horoscope?" 

"Yes.  And  told  me  many  things.  First,  the  least 
important,  to  me  if  not  to  others. " 

"  And  that?" 

"  That  I  should  one  day  be  King  of  France." 

"  Should  you  survive  my  brothers  you  would  neces- 
sarily be  that,  both  by  human  and  divine  law." 

Henri's  lips  curved  in  a  peculiar  smile. 

"Humph!"  he  said.  "  Perhaps  by  cannon  law. "  And 
then  added  quickly:  "Pardon  me,  I  should  not  have 
said  that." 

"Why  not?  I  am  no  child.  In  the  due  course  of 
events,  should  heaven  spare  your  life,  you  may  have  to 
fight  for  the  throne,  but  your  Majesty's  ability  will 
surely  bring  you  success." 

"I  don't  know,"  he  rejoined  thoughtfully.  " Talent, 
genius  even  are  only  promises.  To  them  must  be  joined 
a  lucky  star.  When  that  fails,  all  fails." 

"Let  us  pray  that  you  were  born  under  one,  sire. 
But  what  else  did  Master  Re'ne'  predict  to  you?" 

The  King  of  Navarre  bent  his  eyes  scrutinizingly 
upon  his  wife. 


*THE   KING   OF   NAVARRE   IS    HERE]**  263 

"Much,"  he  said.  "But,  before  I  tell  you,  inform 
me  why  you  have  requested  my  presence  here  to-night." 

Marguerite  started,  and  looked  at  him  in  astonishment. 

"  I  requested  your  presence?"  she  repeated.  "  On  the 
contrary  it  was  you  who  asked  permission  to  come 
here.  See !  Here  is  your  note. " 

And  she  gave  him  the  slip  of  paper  she  still  held  in 
her  hand. 

As  Henri  glanced  over  it,  it  was  his  turn  to  be 
astounded. 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  he  said,  slowly.  *'  I  received 
this  from  you  this  evening." 

And  drawing  another  letter  from  the  pouch  which 
hung  at  his  belt,  he  handed  it  to  her. 

The  paper  contained  these  words: 

*'  The  Queen  of  Navarre  requests  the  presence  of  her 
husband  in  her  apartments  at  ten  of  the  clock. " 

"I  never  wrote  that,"  cried  Marguerite,  as  she  read 
the  words. 

"  Nor  did  I  write  that,"  returned  the  King  of  Navarre, 
indicating  the  epistle  signed  by  his  name. 

Marguerite  started  to  her  feet. 

"Oh!  Henri,  this  is  some  plot!"  she  exclaimed,  fixing 
upon  her  husband  her  lovely,  dark  eyes,  full  of  a  vague 
fear. 

"Nonsense!"  laughed  the  King  of  Navarre,  after  a 
moment's  reflection.  "  More  likely  it  is  some  trick  of 
one  of  your  mischievous  maids  of  honor,  a  trick,  ma 
foi,  which  I  am  only  too  willing  to  forgive.  Well, 
since  I  am  here,  may  I  remain  a  few  moments?  I  will 
be  as  entertaining  as  I  can. " 

"As  your  Majesty  pleases,"  replied  Marguerite,  sink- 
ing down  upon  a  sofa,  although  her  fears  were  only 
partially  allayed. 


264  A   GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCON*. 

The  king  placed  himself  beside  her. 

For  a  few  moments,  nothing  was  said.  Although 
Marguerite's  eyes  were  lowered,  she  could  feel  that  her 
husband  was  gazing  intently  at  her. 

At  last,  when  the  silence  was  becoming  almost  un- 
oearable  to  her,  Henri  spoke. 

"Madame,"  he  began,  slowly,  "whatever  many  per- 
sons may  have  said,  I  think  that  our  marriage  is  a  good 
marriage.  I  stand  well  with  you,  you  stand  well  with 
me." 

He  paused,  as  if  waiting  for  a  response.  Marguerite, 
who  was  toying  nervously  with  the  hilt  of  the  dagger 
which  confined  her  dress,  was  decidedly  embarrassed. 
She  scarcely  knew  what  this  preamble  meant,  but  she 
managed  to  say: 

"  Ydu  know,  sire,  that  you  have  my  friendship. " 

"Friendship!  Ventre-Saint-Gris!"  ejaculated  the 
king,  with  a  scornful  gesture.  "What  is  friendship? 
A  duet  in  which  both  voices  ring  false.  No!  no! 
What  I  want  is  something  more  than  friendship. " 

As  he  said  these  words,  he  took  her  hand,  which 
Marguerite  did  not  withdraw.  Confident  now  of  the 
ground  on  which  she  stood,  she  was  fast  recovering  her 
self-possession. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  say?"  he  continued. 

"  Say?"  she  replied,  smiling — "  I  say  that  your  Majesty 
is  an  enigma." 

"An  enigma!  So  are  all  men.  But,  mordi!  Mar- 
guerite, if  men  are  enigmas,  women  are — two. " 

Marguerite  laughed  outright. 

"  A  compliment  to  our  sex,  sire,  which  I  scarcely  ex- 
pected from  you." 

Henri  laughed  too. 

"  Since  my  marriage  I  have  learned  wisdom.     But  a 


"THE  KING  of  NAVARRE  is  HERE!"  265 

truce  to  badinage.  I  told  you  of  other  predictions 
made  by  the  astrologer.  There  was  one  in  particular 
which  was  more  interesting  to  me  than  all  the  rest. 
Can  you  imagine  what  it  was?" 

"No,"  replied  Marguerite,  with  admirably  assumed 
carelessness,  although  her  heart  was  beating  much  more 
quickly  than  was  its  wont. 

Henri  leaned  toward  her,  and  spoke  in  low,  pleading 
tones : 

"  He  said  that  one  day  I  should  win  the  love  of  my 
wife. " 

Although  the  Queen  of  Navarre  knew  that  the  pre- 
diction was  already  fulfilled,  she  was  too  practised  a 
coquette  to  yield  and  acknowledge  all  at  once.  She 
preferred  to  enjoy  her  triumph  and  torture  him  a  little 
first. 

So  her  only  reply  was  a  low  silvery  laugh. 

Despite  the  fact  that  he  had  a  keen  intuition  into  the 
minds  and  natures  of  others,  Henri  was  for  once  baffled. 
He  could  not  explain  the  meaning  of  that  laugh.  Was 
it  amusement?  incredulity?  what? 

At  all  events  it  increased  his  passion  twofold,  as  its 
cunning  author  had  calculated  it  would. 

He  seized  both  her  hands  and  drew  her  close  to  him, 
compelling  her  to  turn  her  face  toward  him.  Her  eyes 
remained  persistently  lowered,  but  a  bewitching,  tanta- 
lizing smile  lingered  about  the  red  lips. 

"  I  love  you,  Marguerite,  I  love  you,"  he  murmured, 
ardently. 

Now  she  did  raise  her  eyes,  full  of  almost  childlike 
wonder. 

"  Oh,  sire,  what  are  you  saying?" 

"The  truth,  Margot,  the  truth!" 

She  was  on  the  very  point  of  yielding,  and  confessing 


366  A  GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY 

her  own  secret,  when  a  scrambling  noise  on  the  balcony 
startled  them,  interrupting  the  love-making  and  bring- 
ing both  of  them  to  their  feet. 

The  next  moment  a  man  leaped  through  the  window 
into  the  room. 

Marguerite  uttered  a  low  cry  of  alarm,  and,  with  a 
brow  black  as  night  and  a  muttered  curse,  Henri  strode 
forward  to  confront  the  intruder. 

But  the  other,  doffing  his  hat  and  exposing  the  face 
of  the  Chevalier  de  Puycadere,  arrested  him  with  a 
quick  gesture  and  a  breathless  exclamation  of: 

"Fly,  sire,  fly!    They  are  coming!" 

44  Monsieur  de  Puycadere!"  cried  the  king  in  mingled 
astonishment  and  anger.  "  What  means  this  unseemly 
intrusion  into  the  queen's  apartments?  Who  are 
coming?" 

"A  band  of  men  to  assassinate  you." 

The  queen  turned  pale  to  the  lips,  but  Henri  only 
tittered  a  scornful  ejaculation. 

In  as  few  words  as  possible,  Raoul  told  all  that  he 
knew,  and  then,  turning  to  Marguerite,  added : 

"  In  the  name  of  heaven,  madame,  order  him  to  fly!" 

Marguerite  darted  forward  and  caught  her  husband's 
hand. 

"  Yes,  yes,  Henri,  go !  You  have  already  delayed  too 
long!  Hark,  some  one  is  mounting  the  staircase.  Go! 
go!  For  my  sake!  Henri!  for  my  sake!" 

"For  your  sake!" 

"For  mine!     Listen!     I  love  you!" 

Forgetful  of  the  chevalier's  presence,  the  king  threw 
his  arms  about  his  wife  and  pressed  his  lips  to  hers. 

At  the  same  moment  the  door  leading  into  the  corri- 
dor was  stealthily  tried. 

Raoul  sprang  forward  and  pushed  to  the  bolt 


"THE  KING  OF  NAVARRE  is  HERE!"  367 

"Mon  Dieu!"  exclaimed  Marguerite,  tearing  herself 
from  her  husband's  arms. 

Instantly  the  king's  expression  changed.  He  was 
now  on  the  alert,  quick  to  plan,  quick  to  act. 

"  Where  does  that  door  lead  to?"  he  asked,  indicating 
another  than  the  one  which  was  now  being  tried  again 
with  more  force. 

"  TO  the  room  of  the  maids  of  honor." 

"  And  it  has  another  exit?" 

"Yes." 

The  conspirators  had  doubtless  discovered  that  the 
door  was  bolted  and  were  trying  to  force  it  with  their 
shoulders,  for  the  panels  were  shaken  and  creaked 
heavily. 

"  There  is  a  detachment  of  musketeers  in  the  guard 
room  below,"  said  the  king.  "Time  to  summon  them, 
and  I  return.  Monsieur  le  Chevalier,  remain!  They 
can  scarcely  break  in  before  I  am  here." 

And  without  further  delay,  he  vanished  into  the  next 
room. 

"  Open!  open !"  came  a  voice  which  Raoul  recognized 
as  that  of  De  Vrissac.  "Open  quickly!  There  is 
danger!" 

The  queen  placed  her  finger  to  her  lips. 

"Open!"  once  more  came  the  demand,  to  which 
again  no  answer  was  returned.  Crash!  The  door 
shook  beneath  the  shock  and  the  bolt  started  from  its 
socket. 

Raoul  sprang  forward,  but  the  queen  seized  him  by 
the  arm. 

"  No!  no!"  she  said,  in  a  hurried  whisper.  "  It  would 
be  needless  bloodshed!  Leave  all  to  me!  Go  there!" 

And  before  he  could  remonstrate  or  resist,  she  had 
pushed  him  behind  the  aangings  of  the  window. 


268  A  GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCONY. 

"I,  your  queen,  command  you  to  remain  there!" 

The  next  instant  the  door  fell  inward  with  a  loud 
noise,  and  the  Vicomte  de  Vrissac,  followed  by  three 
others,  all  with  drawn  swords,  rushed  into  the  chamber. 

They  paused  and  drew  back  a  little,  however,  as  they 
saw  confronting  them  the  solitary  figure  of  the  Queen 
of  Navarre. 

Erect  and  dauntless  she  faced  them,  her  cheeks  flushed 
and  her  dark  eyes  gleaming  and  glowing  like  coals  of 
fire. 

"  What  means  this,  messieurs?"  she  demanded  haugh- 
tily. "  How  dare  you  thus  invade  the  privacy  of  a 
daughter  of  France?" 

For  an  instant  every  man  of  them  felt  a  thrill  of 
shame  and  involuntarily  doffed  his  hat. 

But  the  feeling  was  only  momentary,  and  the  vicomte 
quickly  realized  all  that  was  at  stake.  To  retreat  now 
would  be  ruin. 

He  gave  a  keen  glance  about  the  apartment,  and  then 
answered,  respectfully : 

"  Pardon,  your  Majesty,  our  impetuosity,  but  danger 
threatened  the  King  of  Navarre,  and " 

The  queen's  lip  curled  scornfully. 

"  Indeed !  Were  the  King  of  Navarre  in  danger,"  she 
interrupted,  with  the  same  brave,  defiant  manner,  "he 
would  know  how  to  defend  himself,  and  would  scarcely 
ccept  the  aid  of  his  avowed  enemy.  Monsieur  de 
Vrissac. H 

"  Your  Majesty  wrongs  me.     If " 

"  You  see,  the  King  of  Navarre  is  not  here.  Seek 
him  elsewhere." 

The  vicomte  was  beginning  to  fear  that  the  scheme 
had  miscarried,  when  his  eye  fell  upon  a  hat,  the  feath- 
ers of  which  were  clasped  with  a  jewelled  crown.  It 


"THE  KING  OF  NAVARRE  is  HERE!"  269 

lay  upon  a  table  where  Henri  had  cast  it  upon  his 
entrance. 

With  a  cry  of  joy,  De  Vrissac  snatched  it  up. 

"  Henri  de  Bourbon  has  been  here!  He  is  here!"  he 
exclaimed  exultantly.  "With  your  Majesty's  permis- 
sion," and  there  was  a  covert  sneer  in  the  tone,  "  we  will 
search  the  room !" 

Raoul  de  Puycadere  had  listened  with  rage  and  im- 
patience to  the  preceding  scene.  It  little  suited  his 
temperament  to  be  in  hiding  thus,  and,  at  the  vicomte's 
threat  to  search  the  queen's  apartment,  his  hot  Gascon 
blood  got  the  better  of  him. 

Drawing  his  sword  from  its  scabbard,  he  thrust  aside 
the  curtains  and  stepped  forth  from  his  place  of  con- 
cealment. 

"  For  shame !  Monsieur  le  Vicomte !"  he  exclaimed 
angrily.  "  Before  you  subject  a  princess  of  France  to 
such  indignity,  you  must  first  reckon  with  me !" 

For  an  instant,  De  Vrissac  was  thunderstruck  at  this 
sudden  and  unlooked-for  apparition  of  his  dearest 
foe. 

Then  an  expression  of  fiendish  delight  swept  across 
his  face. 

Leaning  forward  with  a  quick  movement,  and  speak- 
ing with  one  claw-like  finger  extended  and  a  malevo- 
lent gleam  in  his  eyes,  he  said: 

"At  last  we  meet,  Monsieur  le  Chevalier,  but  the 
saints  forbid  that  I  should  rob  the  hangman  of  his  due. 
Madame,"  turning  to  the  queen,  "  we  came  here  expect- 
ing to  find  a  husband,  and  we  find  a  lover!  If  the 
Prince  of  Beam " 

But  before  the  sentence  could  be  finished,  and  before 
Raoul  could  make  a  movement  to  avenge  this  insult  to 
his  queen,  a  stern,  commanding  voice  rang  out: 


270  A   GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCONY. 

"  Hold !  Who  speaks  of  the  Prince  of  Be*arn?  The 
King  of  Navarre  is  here!" 

In  the  doorway  stood  Henri  de  Bourbon,  and  behind 
him  some  half  a  score  of  the  king's  guards. 

"  I  am  here !  Finish  your  words,  Monsieur  le  Vicomte, 
that  I  may  hear  them !" 

He  advanced  into  the  room,  closely  followed  by  the 
soldiers. 

The  other  conspirators  shrank  back  in  alarm,  but  De 
Vrissac,  with  a  snarl  like  a  wolf  brought  to  bay,  gave  a 
quick  glance  around  him. 

The  musketeers  had  come  forward,  and  were  between 
him  and  the  chevalier. 

He  could  not  reach  him. 

There  was  one  victim  before  him,  however,  on  whom 
he  might  still  wreak  his  vengeance  and  so  fulfil  the 
object  for  which  he  had  come. 

With  uplifted  dagger,  he  rushed  upon  the  King  ot 
Navarre. 

Quick  as  his  movement  was,  however,  there  was  one 
who  was  more  swift  to  think  and  act  than  he. 

Marguerite  of  Valois  saw  the  blade  of  the  deadly 
weapon  gleam  over  the  head  of  her  husband,  and,  with 
a  lightning-like  action,  she  plucked  the  poniard  from 
her  corsage,  and  struck  the  would-be  assassin  full  in  the 
breast. 

Although  her  attack  deflected  the  vicomte's  blow, 
Henri  did  not  escape  wholly  unscathed. 

The  dagger  of  De  Vrissac  struck  his  lip,  drawing 
blood. 

Simultaneously  the  soldiers  had  rushed  forward,  and 
the  conspirators,  including  De  Vrissac,  taken  by  sur- 
prise, were  in  their  hands  and  disarmed,  almost  before 
they  knew  what  had  happened. 


"THE  KING  OF  NAVARRE  is  HERE!"  271 

Not  in  the  least  disconcerted  by  the  attack  upon  him, 
Henri  wiped  the  blood  from  his  lips,  remarking  quietly: 

"  I  have  heard  from  many  mouths  that  I  had  enemies 
in  Paris,  now  I  have  proof  of  it  from  my  own. " 

Then,  bending  upon  his  wife  a  look  which  softened 
the  whole  expression  of  his  face,  he  said  in  a  voice  au- 
dible only  to  her  ears : 

"  Sweetheart,  you  have  saved  my  life !  Hereafter  it 
is  yours  to  do  with  as  you  will!" 

But  an  onlooker  would  scarcely  believe  it  was  the 
same  man  who,  a  second  afterward,  bent  upon  the 
baffled  conspirators  so  stern  a  gaze. 

"  Ventre-Saint-Gris!  The  next  time  select  a  more 
easy  prey.  Go !  now !  the  whole  of  you,  to  the  devil !" 
He  paused  an  inappreciable  second,  and  then  bowing, 
with  sarcastic  courtesy,  added:  "Gentlemen,  if  you 
please!" 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
LOVE  THE  CONQUEROR! 

ONCE  more  was  Raoul  de  Puycadere  in  concealment 
in  one  of  the  gypsies'  haunts. 

After  the  frustration  of  the  plot  to  kill  the  King  of 
Navarre,  for  him  to  have  remained  in  the  Louvre  would 
have  been  more  than  dangerous. 

Already  a  price  was  upon  his  head,  and,  when  it  be- 
came known  to  Catherine  de  Medicis,  as  undoubtedly 
it  would  be,  that  it  was  through  his  intervention  that 
the  hated  B6arnais  was  still  alive,  it  scarcely  admitted 
of  a  doubt  but  that  his  capture  would  be  sought  with 
redoubled  ardor. 

So,  after  the  removal  of  the  would-be  assassins,  both 
Henri  de  Bourbon  and  Marguerite  de  Valois,  hereafter 
his  wife  in  reality  as  well  as  in  name,  were  obliged  to 
confess  that  it  would  be  safer  for  the  chevalier,  for  the 
present  at  least,  to  seek  some  other  asylum. 

All  the  next  day  he  had  remained  hidden,  and  now 
the  night  had  come. 

It  had  been  a  solitary  vigil,  and  it  was  with  a  feeling 
of  relief  to  have  his  solitude  broken  in  upon  that  he 
hailed  the  advent  of  Mirza  and  Pharos  about  an  hour 
after  sundown. 

"  Monsieur  le  Chevalier, "  began  the  Tzigana,  "  I 
promised  to  keep  watch  and  ward  for  you,  and  let  you 
know  when  there  might  be  a  chance  for  you  to  see 
Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac  alone. " 


LOVE  THE  CONQUEROR!  973 

"Yes,  yes,"  exclaimed  Raoul,  eagerly  starting  to  his 
feet  "Goon!" 

"  Fifteen  minutes  ago,  she  was  on  the  terrace  of  the 
gardens  of  the  Hotel  de  Bassompierre,  and " 

Without  waiting  to  hear  further,  Raoul  snatched  up 
his  cloak,  and,  with  a  hasty  farewell,  absolutely  ran 
from  the  place. 

Pharos  laughed,  but  Mirza  looked  grave. 

"His  impetuosity  will  ruin  him,"  she  said,  "but  we 
must  watch  over  him.  Go  at  once,  Pharos.  Summon 
the  tribe.  Let  them  come  one  by  one,  and  conceal 
themselves  in  the  duchess'  gardens.  At  all  events,  if 
aught  goes  wrong,  we  shall  be  there. " 

With  his  heart  on  fire,  Raoul  strode  through  the 
dimly  lighted  streets  on  his  way  toward  the  Hotel  de 
Bassompierre.  It  would  have  been  well  for  him  had  he 
been  less  absorbed,  had  he  seen  the  little  red,  ferret- 
like  eyes  that  were  bent  upon  him  as  he  turned  into  the 
quay,  and  had  he  known  of  the  triumphant  thought  of 
Sergeant  Goujon: 

"At  last  he  is  in  my  power  again!  This  will  be 
worth  at  least  fifty  golden  crowns  from  the  duchess." 


The  full  September  moon  flung  its  rays  with  reckless 
prodigality  over  the  peaceful  gardens  of  the  Hotel  de 
Bassompierre,  touching  with  silver  the  leaves  of  the 
magnificent  eld  trees,  and  making  the  jets  of  the  foun- 
tain sparkle  like  fairy  money  as  they  fell  with  a  musical 
tinkle  into  the  marble  basins  below. 

Upon  the  terrace,  in  front  of  the  lighted  windows  of 

the  house,  stood  Gabrielle  de  Vrissac.     One  white  arm, 

from  which  the  sleeve  of  her  pale  green  satin  robe  had 

fallen  back,  was  resting  upon  the  balustrade,  and  she 

Ft 


274  A    GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

was  gazing  half  dreamily  down  upon  the  quiet  scene 
beneath. 

So  might  Juliet  have  leaned  over  her  balcony  in  the 
warm  glow  of  the  soft  Italian  night,  but,  alas !  there  was 
no  Romeo  visible  here  to  stir  the  pulsations  of  her  heart. 

Not  even  the  most  vivid  imagination  could  transform 
into  a  lover  the  thin,  elderly  man  in  his  severe  robe  ot 
black,  who  stood  by  her  side. 

"Poor  child!  Poor  child!"  he  was  saying,  sympa- 
thetically. "It  was  a  hard  position  to  be  placed  in, 
but  the  vicomte  escaped  and  is  now  in  Paris.  I  saw 
him  but  yesterday  at  the  Louvre;  and  you  have  sur- 
vived the  trials  of  the  road,  and  are  safe  once  more 
under  your  aunt's  protection. " 

"It -was  a  terrible  journey,"  said  Gabrielle,  with  a 
shudder.  "  I  knew  not  at  any  moment  when  we  might 
be  again  attacked." 

"  It  is  over  now.     All's  well  that  ends  well." 

Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac  started  and  turned  toward 
the  old  man.  The  color  was  warm  upon  her  cheeks 
and  her  luminous  eyes  were  lifted  full  of  varying  ex- 
pression to  his. 

"  Ay,  Master  Pare,  but  all  is  not  over.  I  have  trusted 
you.  You  know  all.  He  was  wounded,  he  was  ill 
when  he  left  the  chateau,  at  my  bidding — at  my  bidding, 
but  I  could  do  naught  else.  And  where  is  he  now? 
In  Paris?  Then  every  moment  he  is  in  danger  of  dis- 
covery. And  the  duchess  is  more  inexorable  than  ever. 
Her  one  thought  is  the  recapture  of  the  chevalier  and 
his — his  punishment.  Oh !  Master  Pare !  It  is  I  who 
have  been  the  unfortunate  cause  of  all !" 

With  a  burst  of  emotion,  she  let  her  head  sink  upon 
the  shoulder  of  the  old  man,  who  had  taken  her  hands 
in  his. 


LOVE  THE  CONQUEROR!  275 

"Patience,  dear  child,  patience,"  he  said  tenderly 
and  soothingly.  "  No  one  can  know  what  an  hour  may 
bring  forth. " 

As  he  spoke,  he  was  thinking  to  himself: 

"  I  have  delayed  long  enough.  The  suspense  is  over. 
I  need  watch  the  dread  balance  no  longer ;  it  has  turned 
at  last,  at  last!  Now  to  act!" 

He  continued  to  speak  veiled  words  of  hope  to  the 
young  girl,  until  her  vague  fears  began  to  fly  away,  and 
then  he  took  his  leave,  promising  to  see  her  again 
shortly. 

Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac,  cheered  and  comforted  in 
spite  of  herself,  remained  alone  upon  the  terrace. 

The  sound  of  the  retreating  footsteps  of  the  phy- 
sician had  scarcely  died  away,  when  she  was  startled  by 
the  softly  breathed  utterance  of  her  name : 

"Gabrielle!" 

And  immediately  a  figure  glided  from  behind  one 
of  the  fountains  and  ran  lightly  up  the  steps  to  her 
side. 

With  a  joyous  throb  of  her  heart,  she  recognized 
Raoul  de  Puycadere,  and  made  a  movement  as  if  to 
throw  herself  into  his  arms ;  but  almost  instantly  she 
paused,  and  murmured,  in  much  agitation: 

"Raoul!   Raoul!    you — free!     Is  it  possible?     Ho*, 
came  you  here?" 

"Love  has  wings,  dearest,"  said  Raoul  happily,  as 
he  feasted  his  eyes  upon  the  rare  loveliness  of  her  ex- 
quisite face,  "and  soars  above  every  obstacle." 

"  Oh !  hush !  hush !"  exclaimed  Gabrielle,  with  a  fear- 
some glance  about  her.  "  Do  not  speak  so  lightly  of  a 
terror  which  is  not  yet  passed — the  future " 

"  Think  not  of  it,  my  beloved,  so  long  as  the  present 
hour  remains  with  us," 


376  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCON Y. 

He  was  close  beside  her  now,  and,  unchecked,  his 
strong  arm  had  stolen  about  her  slender  waist. 

But  all  Gabrielle's  fears  were  up  in  arms. 

"Raoul!  Raoul!"  she  whispered  imploringly.  "You 
must  not  remain  here.  Let  me  implore  you  to  go ;  if 
possible,  to  leave  Paris.  You  saved  my  life!  I  now 
urge  you  to  save  your  own." 

"  By  what  means?"  he  asked  tenderly,  bending  over 
her,  and  holding  her  still  more  closely  in  his  arms. 

"Flight." 

"Again!  I  obeyed  you  once  at  Vrissac.  Now,  no! 
I  cannot  go. " 

"Raoul!  Raoul!  You  do  not  know  what  you  say. 
The  duchess  is  using  every  means  to  discover  you.  The 
friends  of  our  house  join  in  the  cry,  and  the  king  him- 
self urges  the  pursuit." 

Raoul  laughed. 

"I  thank  his  Majesty,"  he  said,  with  light  scorn, 
"and  I  could  expect  no  less  from  the  hero  of  Saint 
Bartholomew. " 

Then,  with  an  entire  change  of  manner,  he  lowered 
his  head  closer  and  closer  until  his  mustache  brushed 
her  cheek,  and  continued,  his  voice  vibrant  with  the 
tenderest  feeling: 

"  Gabrielle,  my  sweetheart,  my  own,  I  have  weighed 
all  and  know  the  full  extent  of  my  danger." 

"  And  you  will  fly?"  she  asked  eagerly. 

He  smiled,  and  shook  his  head. 

"No,"  he  answered,  with  gentle  firmness. 

With  a  quick  movement,  Gabrielle  tore  herself  from 
his  embrace,  and  stood  before  him,  twisting  her  hands 
nervously  together  in  her  fear  and  the  apparent  power- 
lessness  of  her  attempts  to  influence  him. 

"Go!   go!"   she  cried,  desperately.     "It  is  courting 


LOVE  THE  CONQUEROR!  477 

doom  to  remain  here !  In  this  house,  look  for  no  pity, 
no  concealment!  To  the  ears  of  the  duchess,  the  very 
pictures  of  her  ancestors  have  each  a  voice  and  cry 
aloud  for  vengeance!  The  very  stones  beneath  her 
feet  echo  the  cry!  There  is  death  upon  us — death 
swift  and  sure!  Fly!  fly!  The  friends  who  have 
helped  you  thus  far  can  help  you  still  further,  but  not 
here!  not  here!" 

She  paused,  breathless  with  excitement,  her  eyes 
glued  upon  his  face,  only  to  read  there  that  her  appeal 
had  availed  naught. 

"  Gabrielle,  you  are  my  life!"  was  his  only  response* 

"Raoul!" 

"  Listen  tome,  beloved!"  he  went  on  rapidly,  and  the 
note  of  appeal  in  his  voice  was  stronger  even  than  hers 
had  been.  "  You  have  told  me  that  you  loved  me,  but 
you  have  not  told  me  that  you  would  forget  all  and 
crown  my  existence  by  becoming  my  wife.  Do  this 
and " 

A  low  cry  broke  from  her  lips,  cutting  short  his 
words. 

"  I  dare  not!    I  dare  not!"  she  faltered  brokenly. 

"  Then  here  I  remain.     I " 

But  before  he  could  finish,  he  was  interrupted  by  a 
lithe  figure  bounding  swiftly  up  the  steps.  It  was 
Mirza,  the  Tzigana,  her  face  shining  pale  in  the  moon- 
light. 

"Monsieur!  Monsieur  le  Chevalier!"  she  panted. 
"  Your  presence  here  is  known !  The  soldiers  are  upon 
your  track!  There  is  not  a  moment  to  be  lost!  Quick ! 
Follow  me!"  ' 

But,  to  her  unbounded  astonishment,  the  chevalier 
merely  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"No  I  I  remain  I"  he  said. 


278  A  GENTLEMAN   FROM   GASCONY. 

"Remain,  monsieur!     Impossible!" 

"  Nay,  I  cannot  go. " 

And  he  turned  again  to  Gabrielle.  There  is  a  time 
in  the  life  of  every  lover  when  he  becomes  a  desperate 
gambler  and  he  risks  his  all  upon  a  single  throw  of  the 
die.  And  so  it  was  with  Raoul  now.  If  Gabrielle 
should  persist  in  her  refusal  to  marry  him,  what  mat- 
tered his  life? 

But,  before  he  could  move  a  step,  Mirza  clutched  him 
feverishly  by  the  sleeve,  and  pointed  across  the  gar- 
dens, to  where,  some  little  distance  up  the  river,  a  dim 
uncertain,  reddish  light  was  visible,  and  at  the  same 
moment  there  broke  upon  their  ears  the  dull,  far-off, 
muffled  tolling  of  an  alarm-bell. 

Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac  gave  one  horrified  glance  in 
the  direction  indicated  by  the  gypsy's  finger,  and  sank 
down  upon  a  stone  bench,  covering  her  face  with  her 
hands. 

"  Look,  look,  monsieur!"  cried  Mirza.  "The  soldiers 
are  descending  the  river  in  boats.  Yonder  glare  comes 
from  their  torches.  In  ten  minutes  they  will  have  en- 
tered the  gardens." 

The  chevalier  lightly  shook  off  her  touch,  and  it  was 
with  an  insouciance  which  was  tinged  with  something 
almost  like  gayety,  that  he  replied: 

"Ten  minutes!  The  tortoises!  I  am  grateful  to 
them  for  giving  me  so  much.  Farewell,  my  good  girl, 
and  let  me  steal  a  few  golden  moments  from  the  little 
yet  left  me." 

But,  with  a  spring,  Mirza  darted  in  front  of  him  and 
approached  Gabrielle,  who,  pale  and  trembling,  lifted 
her  head  without  rising. 

"  Oh !  dear  lady !"  implored  the  Tzigane  '  PO  you 
speak,  and " 


LOVE  THE  CONQUEROR!  279 

But  Raoul  had  moved  forward,  and  placing  himself 
between  them,  prevented  any  further  appeal. 

"No,  you  know  not  what  you  are  asking,"  he  said, 
resolutely.  "  I  am  not  ungrateful,  kindest,  best  of 
friends,  but — farewell." 

Mirza  hesitated  a  moment,  glancing  in  her  distress 
from  one  to  the  other.  "It  is  useless,"  she  thought, 
41  and  there  is  but  one  way  to  save  him,  now — but  one. " 
And,  as  if  taken  with  a  sudden  resolve,  she  turned 
quickly,  and  ran  down  the  short  flight  of  steps  to  where 
Pharos  and  Ismael  were  awaiting  her. 

"  What  keeps  him?"  asked  the  former,  in  an  impatient 
whisper. 

"  Chut !"  responded  Mirza,  with  a  gesture  of  silence, 
and  indicating  the  terrace  where  Raoul  had  thrown  him- 
self at  Gabrielle's  feet.  "  The  strongest  of  all  fetters 
- — love!  We  can  do  nothing  here.  But  I  have  a  plan. 
Come!" 

And,  with  Mirza  in  advance,  the  three  Bohemians 
glided  away  into  the  shadows. 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence  on  the  terrace. 
Raoul  seemed  to  have  forgotten  all  save  that  he  was  in 
the  presence  of  the  woman  he  adored. 

Then,  borne  on  a  sudden  puff  of  wind,  the  tolling  of 
the  alarm-bell  grew  louder,  and  at  the  same  moment 
came  sounds  as  of  a  distant  shouting. 

As  if  moved  by  a  spring,  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac 
started  to  her  feet,  and  all  the  momentary  lassitude 
borne  of  her  despair  vanished. 

"  Raoul !  Listen!  oh,  listen !"  she  exclaimed  in  a  low, 
yet  clear  and  vibrant  voice.  "  All  Paris  is  aroused." 

De  Puycadere  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Mordiou!"  he  said,  with  a  contemptuous  wave  of 
bis  arm  toward  the  river,  where  the  red  glare  from  the 


28o  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

torches  was  growing  stronger  and  stronger;  "those 
hounds  were  fleshed  at  Saint  Bartholomew.  Cry  '  Hu- 
guenot!' ,and  all  rush  open-mouthed  upon  the  scent." 

Now,  clear  above  all  other  sounds,  rang  out  not  far 
away  several  shrill  whistles  in  quick  succession,  followed 
by  the  melancholy  note,  rising  and  falling,  of  a  horn. 

"My  friends  the  Bohemians!"  continued  Raoul,  with 
a  laugh.  "  Sure  sign  of  a  storm  when  those  wild  birds 
ride  the  wave.  Mordiou !  There  will  be  many  a  purse 
cut  in  Paris  to-night." 

But  Gabrielle  had  not  been  listening. 

"The  shouts  are  nearer,"  she  said,  her  face  turned 
toward  the  river, "  and  see !  the  glare  increases !  Raoul ! 
Raoul!  do  you  not  hear  them,  nearer  and  nearer?" 

But  Raoul  made  neither  movement  nor  response. 

She  looked  at  him  intently  for  a  moment,  with  her 
whole  soul  shining  from  her  eyes,  and  then,  with  a 
vehement  gesture,  as  if  casting  all  else  to  the  wind,  she 
flew  toward  him  and  cast  her  arms  about  him. 

"Come,  Raoul!  come!"  she  cried,  with  a  passionate 
outburst  of  feeling.  "We  will  fly  together!" 

"  Ah !"  and  in  the  cry  was  all  the  rapture  of  a  man 
who  had  gained  Paradise  itself. 

"Come!  come!"  continued  Gabrielle,  the  words  fall- 
ing quick  and  sharp  in  her  intense  excitement.  "  Yes, 
beneath  my  feet  I  trample  all  the  ties  of  kindred 
and  home!  Love  is  dearer  than  them  all!  Come, 
Raoul,  come!  You  have  friends,  let  us  seek  them! 
quick!  Ah!"  and  she  started  back  a  little,  releasing 
her  hold  upon  him.  "  It  is  too  late !  I  hear  the  clash 
of  arms  and  see  the  glitter  of  pikes !  Merciful  heavens ! 
They  are  here!" 

Raoul  hurried  to  the  balustrade  and  shaded  his  eyes 
with  his  hand. 


LOVE  THE  CONQUEROR!  281 

"  They  are  landing  farther  down  at  the  water-gate, " 
he  said.  "  The  prey  should  be  of  value  to  have  so  many 
in  its  pursuit. " 

"  Raoul!  Stay  not  here!"  exclaimed  Gabrielle,  com- 
ing swiftly  to  his  side.  "  There  is  still  hope.  In  all 
this  house,  there  is  but  one  place  over  whose  threshold 
the  boldest  foot  would  not  dare  to  venture." 

"And  that?" 

"  My  chamber." 

Raoul  started  with  an  exclamation  of  horror  and  in- 
dignant refusal. 

"Never!"  he  declared  violently.  "Never!  A  thou- 
sand deaths,  rather  than  one  slanderous  tongue  should 
smirch  the  whiteness  of  your  name.  Gabrielle!  If  I 
live,  you  will  be  my  wife?" 

"Yes!  yes!" 

"Then,  farewell!  I  will  meet  these  men  as  a  soldier 
should — half-way.  Farewell !  If  I  must  die,  strong  in 
the  knowledge  of  your  love,  I  die  content!" 

He  started  to  move  toward  the  steps,  but  Gabrielle 
was  before  him. 

"No!  no!"  she  cried,  frantically  detaining  him. 
"  You  shall  not  go,  or  if  you  go  I  follow !  My  breast 
shall  be  your  buckler  and  one  shot  shall  carry  death  to 
us  both!  This  way!  This  way!" 

And  before  he  could  remonstrate,  she  had  dragged 
him  into  the  house. 

Across  the  spacious  apartments,  up  one  corridor  and 
down  another  she  led  him,  almost  running  in  her  wild 
impatience,  until  they  came  to  a  long,  dimly  lighted 
gallery,  the  walls  of  which  were  hung  with  full-length 
portraits,  male  and  female,  in  the  dress  of  the  various 
periods  of  French  history. 

"I  was  mad  not  to  J»ave  thought  of  this  before," 


282  A    GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

gasped  Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac,  almost  breathless 
with  her  rapid  progress.  "That  picture,"  crossing  as 
she  spoke  to  a  portrait  of  a  huge,  bearded  man  in  the 
garb  of  a  crusader — "  that  picture  masks  a  secret  pas- 
sage by  which  we  may  gain  unperceived  a  place  of 
shelter,  the  only  one.  The  spring  is  here.  Yes,  it 
moves,  it  moves!  We  are  saved." 

The  picture  had  slid  quickly  aside,  only  to  reveal 
what  froze  Gabrielle's  blood  in  her  veins.  The  cry  of 
joy  died  away  on  her  lips,  utter,  hopeless  despair  took 
possession  of  her,  and  with  a  moan  of  anguish  she  sank 
upon  her  knees,  with  hands  clasped  and  eyes  fixed  as 
one  who  looks  upon  a  spectre. 

Within  the  aperture,  her  eyes  gleaming  with  a  cold, 
merciless  glitter  and  her  lips  wreathed  in  a  triumphant 
smile,  stood — the  Duchess  de  Bassompierrt. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

"  THERE    IS   A    WEAPON  !      DEFEND   YOURSELF. " 

No  words  can  depict  the  emotions  of  Raoul  de  Puy- 
cadere  at  this  unexpected  and  terrible  apparition  of  the 
woman  into  whose  life,  against  his  will  though  it  was, 
he  had  brought  such  terrible  sorrow. 

Had  his  life  depended  upon  it,  he  could  not  have 
moved,  but  remained  motionless  with  his  gaze  riveted 
upon  those  haughty  features,  irradiated  as  they  now 
were  by  an  unholy  joy,  the  anticipated  delight  of  a  ven- 
geance soon  to  be  sated. 

For  an  instant  there  was  silence  in  the  gallery,  a 
silence  broken  only  by  the  shivering  breathing  of 
Gabrielle. 

The  duchess  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"The  plan  was  well  contrived,"  she  said,  with  cold, 
biting  sarcasm,  "but  you  had  forgotten  me  in  your 
counsels. " 

Then,  with  firm,  slow  step,  she  left  her  position  at 
the  entrance  of  the  secret  passage  and  came  into  the 
room.  The  panel  slid  back  into  place  with  a  click 
behind  her. 

Sweeping  past  Gabrielle,  who  still  remained  upon 
her  knees  crouched  against  the  wall,  she  advanced 
toward  the  unhappy  chevalier,  and  stopped  just  before 
him,  confronting  him  with  the  same  look  of  mingled 
sternness  and  exultation. 

Involuntarily  his  eyes  fell  before  her  gazf 


284  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

"Once  more  we  meet,  Raoul  de  Puycadere,"  began 
the  duchess,  slowly.  "  You  cannot  escape  me  now. 
What  foolish  confidence  has  led  you  back  into  this 
house?  The  boldest  hunter  when  he  has  stricken  down 
the  cub  of  the  lioness  hesitates  to  face  its  mother  in  her 
den." 

The  chevalier's  head  was  bent,  and,  despite  all  en- 
deavors, he  could  not  raise  his  eyes  to  meet  those  of  the 
heartbroken,  vindictive  woman.  But  he  essayed  to 
speak. 

"  Madame,  I " 

"  I  spare  you  the  reply, "  interrupted  the  duchess 
haughtily,  with  a  disdainful  glance  at  the  kneeling  form 
of  her  niece,  "  and  will  guess  the  reason  that  has  led  you 
to  rush  thus  blindfold  upon  your  destruction." 

She  paused,  and  as  her  eyes  fell  again  upon  the  chev- 
alier, the  enforced  calmness  which  had  thus  far  distin- 
guished her  bearing  deserted  her.  All  her  hopeless 
grief,  all  her  savage  thirst  for  vengeance,  welled  up  in 
her  heart  and  overwhelmed  her  in  its  flood.  Her  eyes 
blazed  with  sombre  fire  and  two  red  spots  burned  darkly 
in  her  cheeks.  She  towered  above  the  bowed  figure  of 
the  man  before  her,  whom  she  at  last  held  in  her  power, 
like  some  superb,  avenging  fury.  And  when  she  spoke, 
her  voice  was  hoarse  and  terrible  in  its  accents  of  re- 
morseless denouncement.  So  might  some  bloodthirsty 
queen  of  a  savage  tribe  have  condemned  her  enemy  to 
the  stake. 

"  Hear  me,  wretched  man !  Hear  me  with  terror, 
that  I  may  revel  in  your  agony,  hear  me  while  I  pro- 
nounce that  death  inevitable  which  now  hangs  over 
you ." 

A  low  moan  broke  from  Gabrielle's  white  lips,  a 
moan  that  went  to  Raoul's  heart  with  a  keener  pang 


"THERE  is  A  WEAPON!     DEFEND  YOURSELF!"      285 

than  all  the  furious  words  hurled  at  him  by  the  duchess, 
but  the  latter  paid  no  attention,  if  indeed  she  heard,  but 
continued,  her  excitement  increasing  every  moment: 

"  Was  it  not  enough  to  have  had  the  fair  protection  of 
my  house,  that  I,  the  lonely  mother,  stretched  out  my 
protecting  hands  even  when  your  own  blood-stained 
sword  cried  out  against  you?  My  sacred  word  was 
pledged,  and  I  gave  you  liberty  and  life,  and  sent  you 
forth  unharmed." 

"You  did,  madame,"  murmured  Raoul,  softly. 

"But,  while  doing  this,  I  swore  that  if,  during  the 
wretched  life  still  left  me,  I  saw  your  face  again,  or 
came  but  to  the  knowledge  of  your  hiding-place,  I 
would  pursue  you  with  my  direst  vengeance!" 

While  the  duchess  was  speaking,  Gabrielle  had  risen 
slowly  to  her  feet,  and  now,  approaching  her  aunt,  she 
laid  her  hand  timidly  upon  her  arm. 

"Ah!  madame!"  she  said,  in  low,  imploring  tones. 
But  the  duchess  started  and  recoiled  as  if  an  adder 
had  touched  her.  Turning  upon  Gabrielle  a  face  con- 
vulsed with  passion,  she  hissed  through  her  clenched 
teeth : 

"  Back !  Back,  I  say,  and  touch  me  not,  degenerate 
girl !  Unworthy  member  of  a  noble  house,  would  you 
dare  again  to  speak  of  your  love  to  me?" 

At  this  Gabrielle  raised  her  head  proudly. 

"To  the  world!"  she  said,  defiantly.  "I  love  Raoul 
de  Puycadere!" 

And,  crossing  to  the  chevalier,  she  took  her  stand  by 
his  side,  resolved  to  share  his  fortunes  for  weal  or  for 

woe. 

The  duchess  made  a  movement  as  i 
down  to  her  feet,  but,  by  a  mighty  effort  restraining 
herself,  she  rejoined  with  a  bitter  sneer : 


286  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

"  You  love  him !  So  be  it !  And  I,  in  the  very  great- 
ness of  my  hate,  call  up  the  pale  figure  of  Death  to 
place  between  you  a  barrier  eternal!" 

As  if  in  answer  to  her  invocation,  a  clash  of  arms 
was  heard  through  one  of  the  windows  which  was  open 
and  overlooked  the  gardens,  and  the  crimson  light  of 
waving  torches  below  flashed  through,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment illuminated  the  scene  as  if  in  a  bath  of  blood. 

"Ah!"  cried  the  duchess,  her  voice  rising  almost  to 
a  shriek.  "You  hear!  you  see!  I  called  on  Death! 
He  answers  to  my  summons!" 

"Aunt!  aunt!"  cried  Gabrielle,  clasping  her  hands 
to  her  head  in  horror. 

"  No  more!     My  heart  is  adamant!" 

But  Gabrielle,  wild  with  terror  for  her  lover,  flew  to 
her  and  once  more  grasped  her  robe. 

"I  must!  I  will  speak!"  she  sobbed.  "Love  is 
stronger  than  hate." 

"Love  stronger  than  hate!"  retorted  the  duchess, 
vrith  a  fierce  laugh,  and  thrusting  the  girl  roughly  from 
her.  "  Love  is  a  word  we  write  in  sand,  and  which  the 
first  rough  wind  disperses  into  air,  but  hate  is  carved 
with  steel  upon  the  marble  of  the  tomb. " 

Gabrielle  stretched  out  her  hands  in  an  agony  of  sup- 
plication. Her  hair  had  become  loosened  and  fell  ii 
golden  masses  about  her  white  face,  and  her  eyes  were 
wild  and  staring  with  fear. 

"Pity!  ah!  pity!"  she  gasped. 

In  an  instant  Raoul  was  by  her  side,  and  had  taken 
her  cold  hand  in  his. 

"  Do  not  plead  for  me,  Gabrielle,"  he  said  quickly. 

The  duchess  laughed,  a  ghastly  laugh  that  froze  the 
blood  in  the  veins  of  the  miserable  girl  before  her. 

"Pity!"   she  echoed,  scornfully.     "Pity!     What  pity 


"THERE  is  A  WEAPON!     DEFEND  YOURSELF!"      287 

had  this  man  upon  Paul  de  Bassompierre  when  he  mur- 
dered him?" 

Raoul  started. 

"Madame,  madame,  do  with  me  what  you  will,"  he 
said,  with  dignity,  "  but  do  not  stain  a  yet  unsullied  name 
with  base  dishonor.  The  duke,  your  son,  fell  in " 

"  In  a  duel !  I  know !  I  know !"  interrupted  the  duch- 
ess, with  intense  bitterness.  "  He  was  killed  according 
to  the  code,  no  rule  infringed,  no  circumstance  omitted. 
You,  a  man,  skilled  in  the  use  of  arms,  crossed  steel 
with  a  boy — a  boy,  I  say,  upon  whose  chin  a  beard  had 
scarcely  dawned.  You  gave  him  no  time,  not  even  to 
call  upon  that  mother  whose  fingers  should  have  closed 
his  eyes,  but  thrust  his  life  out  with  a  lunge. " 

How  cruelly  unjust  this  was  Raoul  knew  only  too 
well.  The  duke  had  come  to  his  death  by  an  accident 
due  to  his  own  folly.  But  what  would  it  avail  to  say 
this  now? 

"Alas!  Would  it  had  been  my  life  in  place  of  his!" 
he  said  sorrowfully,  and  with  entire  sincerity. 

The  duchess  made  a  gesture  of  derisive  scorn. 

"  And  you  talk  to  me  of  mercy!"  she  proceeded,  with 
no  allusion  to  Raoul's  words.  "  Expect  it  rather  from 
the  wolf  whom  you  have  robbed  of  her  cubs!  De- 
mand it  of  the  eagle  whose  nest  you  have  pillaged, 
when  she  hovers  over  you  with  beak  and  claw  prepared 
to  rend,"  and  her  fingers  clinched  as  if  in  the  very 
action — "  to  rend !" 

"  Yet "  began  Gabrielle. 

But  the  duchess  waved  her  aside. 

"Away!  By  all  the  miseries  a  bereaved  mother 
suffers,  I  will  have  justice  on  this  man.  His  own  mad 
folly  has  placed  him  in  my  hands,  and,  come  what  may, 
I  will  feed  the  famine  of  my  vengeance!" 


288  A    GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONV. 

She  moved  a  step  or  two  toward  the  open  window, 
and  then  paused  and  turned  toward  Gabrielle  who  was 
clinging  to  Raoul. 

"You  would  make  that  man  your  husband?  As  you 
please,  but  the  block  shall  stand  behind  the  altar,  and 
the  headsman  beside  the  priest.  Without  there!"  But 
before  she  could  reach  the  window,  below  which  the 
tumult  clearly  showed  that  the  soldiers  were,  Gabrielle, 
breaking  from  Raoul,  who  sought  to  detain  her,  had 
sprung  in  front  of  her  and  barred  the  way. 

The  whole  attitude  and  expression  of  the  girl  had 
undergone  an  instantaneous  and  marvellous  change. 
She  was  no  longer  fearful,  but  her  head  was  held  erect, 
and  her  flashing  eyes  met  those  of  the  duchess  without 
flinching. 

"  To  call  in  those  bloodhounds,  you  must  first  strike 
me  down!"  she  cried  in  clear,  ringing  tones.  "  Nay!  I 
fear  you  not!  Is  it  for  you  to  speak  of  justice,  who 
ere  you  grasp  the  sword  have  thrown  aside  the  balance?" 
She  paused,  and  then,  with  her  eyes  still  fixed  on  the 
duchess,  continued  in  a  gentler  tone:  "You  are  my 
mother's  sister,  and  have  been  as  a  second  mother  to 
me — show  pity  then,  for  it  is  for  my  life  I  plead." 

The  duchess'  expression  softened  a  trifle.  Despite 
herself,  she  could  not  but  remember  what  this  girl  had 
once  been  to  her — almost  a  daughter. 

"  Yours?" 

"  The  blow  you  aim  at  him  strikes  me. " 

"Let  me  pass!" 

But  there  were  not  in  the  tone  the  inflexible  stern- 
ness and  tenacity  of  purpose  there  had  been. 

Gabrielle  gave  her  one  long,  steady  look,  and  then 
moved  aside. 

"  Pass,  then,  and  summon  thither  the  real  assassins. 


"THERE  is  A  WEAPON!    DEFEND  YOURSELF!"      289 

We  will  await  them  hand  in  hand.     My  choice  is  made. 
My  home  is  here." 

And  she  flung  herself  into  Raoul's  outstretched  arms. 

The  duchess  glanced  toward  the  window,  and  then 
stood  irresolute. 

"  Girl !  girl !     Can  you  forget "  she  began. 

"All!"  exclaimed  Gabrielle  passionately,  her  eyes 
sunk  in  those  of  Raoul.  "  I  see  nothing,  can  recognize 
nothing  but  my  love. " 

"  Gabrielle !  Gabrielle !"  murmured  Raoul,  straining 
her  close  to  his  breast.  "  Would  that  I  had  words  to 
show  you  my  heart." 

"Your  heart  is  linked  with  mine,  and  cannot  be 
divided." 

Raoul  dashed  one  hand  across  his  eyes  to  brush  away 
the  mist  of  tears  that  blinded  him.  Then,  still  en- 
circling Gabrielle,  he  turned  to  the  duchess  with  a  sort 
of  feverish  desperation. 

"  Madame,  madame,  do  with  me  what  you  will, "  he 
said,  brokenly.  "  I  cannot  think !  I  cannot  see !  Let 
some  hand,  even  though  it  be  the  hand  of  the  execu- 
tioner, guide  me  out  of  this  dismal  maze. " 

The  duchess  did  not  move  or  speak.  All  the  fierce 
excitement  of  her  anger  had  vanished,  the  color  had 
faded  from  her  cheeks,  leaving  her  pale,  worn,  and 
weary. 

Then  from  within  the  house  itself  came  the  tramp  of 
feet  and  the  clamor  of  voices.  No  need  to  call  now. 
The  soldiers  had  already  penetrated  it  in  pursuit  of 
their  prey. 

The  duchess  wavered  a  moment,  and  came  hurriedly 
toward  the  lovers,  clasped  in  one  another's  arms. 

Then,  struggling  with    her  emotion,  and  speaking 
with  an  effort,  she  said: 
19 


29<>  A  GENTLEMAN    FROM   GASCONV. 

"  Raoul  de  Puycadere,  of  all  the  edifice  that  formed 
our  house,  you  have  left  me  but  a  ruin ;  you  have  robbed 
me  of  a  son,  and  now  would  steal  away  the  last  link  that 
might  bind  me  to  the  world — my — my  daughter!  Re- 
nounce Gabrielle !  Swear  to  me  that  you  will  see  her  no 
more,  and " 

She  paused,  the  words  choking  her  in  her  throat. 

"Renounce  Gabrielle!"  cried  Raoul,  clasping  the 
young  girl  still  more  closely  to  him.  "  Renounce  Ga- 
brielle! A  dozen  lives  were  too  dearly  purchased  at 
such  a  price!" 

"Die,  then!"  exclaimed  the  duchess,  turning  angrily 
away. 

But  Gabrielle  wrenched  herself  away  from  Raoul, 
and  flung  herself  passionately  at  her  aunt's  feet. 

"  Spare  him !  Spare  him !  You  weep.  Ah !  do  not 
turn  away !  I  see  you  weep.  Your  hands  too  tremble. 
Do  not  withdraw  it,  but  let  it  rest  in  mine!  Spare  him, 
my  mother,  spare  me  /" 

It  was  a  terrible  moment  for  the  duchess.  Her  whole 
mood  had  changed.  Although  her  sorrow  for  the  dead 
was  no  whit  abated,  she  recognized  at  last,  though 
vaguely,  her  duty  to  the  living.  It  was  a  cruel  alter- 
native, and  on  either  side  her  heart  was  rent  in  twain. 
She  had  called  on  Death  to  aid  her,  and  now  she  shrank 
appalled  before  the  power  she  had  invoked. 

Closer  and  nearer  came  the  shouts  and  cries  of  those 
she  would  gladly  have  welcomed  a  short  time  before. 

In  another  instant  the  soldiers  would  be  in  the 
gallery. 

Releasing  herself  from  Gabrielle,  she  turned  to 
Raoul. 

"  Chevalier  de  Puycadere, "  she  said  hurriedly,  "  you 
have  injured  me  beyond  the  possibility  of  forgiveness. 


"THERE  is  A  WEAPON!    DEFEND  YOURSELF!"      291 

It  is  not  given  me  to  pardon,  but  I — I  cannot  be  your 
executioner!" 

Then,  with  a  rapid  step,  as  though  fearful  to  hesitate 
an  instant  lest  she  should  repent  of  her  determination, 
she  crossed  to  where  upon  the  wall,  between  two  of  the 
pictures,  was  arranged  a  stack  of  weapons. 

Quickly  detaching  a  sword,  she  flung  it  at  the  cheva- 
lier's feet. 

44  There!"  she  cried,  as  the  door  at  the  tipper  end  of 
the  gallery  was  thrown  open.  "  There  is  a  weapon !  De- 
fend yourself!  And,  at  least,  die  like  a  soldier!" 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

WON  AT  LAST! 

WITH  a  loud  cry,  a  very  rugissement  of  joy,  Raoul 
snatched  up  the  sword.  Death  seemed  inevitable,  but 
all  events  he  would  die,  like  a  worthy  scion  of  his  family, 
by  the  soldier's  weapon,  and  not  by  the  axe  of  the 
headsman. 

The  tumult  outside  was  deafening.  His  enemies 
were  close  at  hand.  Setting  his  teeth  hard,  he  threw 
himself  into  a  position  of  defence,  determined  to  sell 
his  life  as  dearly  as  possible. 

In  an  agony  of  fear,  Gabrielle  clung  to  the  duchess. 

The  immense  doors  at  the  end  of  the  gallery  were 
flung  open  with  a  resounding  clatter.  It  was  not  sol- 
diers, however,  who  rushed  and  struggled  in  a  confused 
mass  down  the  short  flight  of  steps.  In  a  sort  of  bil- 
low surged  down  a  band  of  Bohemians,  led  by  Pharos 
and  Ismael.  Their  garments  were  girded  about  them 
as  if  for  battle,  each  man  was  armed  with  knife,  club, 
or  dagger,  and  on  every  face  was  an  expression  of  wild 
ferocity. 

Immediately  after  them  came  with  martial  tread  a 
company  of  soldiers,  who  halted  in  double  ranks  at  the 
top  of  the  steps. 

Then  among  them  appeared  for  an  instant  the  burly 
form  and  scarlet  face  of  Sergeant  Goujon. 

" There  he  is!"  he  screamed.     "  Fire  upon  him!" 

And  he  disappeared  again  behind  his  men. 


WON  AT  LAST!  193 

"To  your  ranks,  children  of  Egypt,"  shouted  Pharos, 
" and  pay  back  fire  with  steel!" 

The  soldiers  levelled  their  arquebuses,  but,  before 
they  could  obey  the  sergeant's  command,  Gabrielle  had 
thrown  herself  in  front  of  the  chevalier,  and  the  duchess 
had  advanced,  her  hand  raised  with  a  gesture  of  com- 
.nand. 

The  soldiers  paused,  not  daring  to  fire  for  fear  of  in- 
juring one  of  the  women. 

At  this  the  sergeant,  fearful  of  being  balked  of  his 
prey  and  so  losing  the  promised  reward,  forgot  for  once 
his  prudence  and  appeared  once  more  amid  the  ranks 
of  his  men. 

"Fire!"  he  commanded,  angrily. 

But,  as  the  soldiers  still  hesitated,  he  snatched  an 
arquebuse  from  one  of  them  and  pointed  it  at  the 
chevalier. 

"  By  the  bones  of  Beelzebub,  he  shall  not  escape  me 
again!" 

But,  before  he  could  fire,  the  piece  was  struck  upward, 
he  himself  hurled  violently  to  the  ground,  and,  dashing 
aside  all  obstacles,  there  pressed  forward  a  richly 
dressed  man  of  marked  physiognomy — brilliant-eyed, 
thin-lipped  and  with  a  nose  like  an  eagle's  beak. 

A  short  distance  from  the  foot  of  the  steps  he  paused 
and  faced  the  soldiers. 

"You  know  me!"  he  cried,  in  clarion-like  tones. 
"  Lower  your  muskets.  I  command  you !" 

Instantly  the  soldiers  obeyed  the  order;  and  the 
gypsies  shrank  back  confusedly  to  right  and  left  as  they 
recognized  the  gallant  King  of  Navarre. 

With  a  slower  step,  Henri  advanced  to  the  little 
group,  composed  of  Raoul,  Gabrielle  and  the  duchess. 

Mademoiselle  de  Vrissac  was  white  and  trembling, 


294  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

but  a  new  hope  sprang  up  in  her  heart  at  sight  of  the 
new-comer. 

Doffing  his  plumed  hat,  Henri  said  with  a  laugh : 

"  I  was  just  in  time,  it  seems.  Another  moment, 
chevalier,  and  it  might  have  been  too  late. " 

Then,  turning  to  the  duchess,  he  asked  gravely  and 
courteously : 

"  Madame  la  Duchesse,  do  you  still  desire  the  death 
of  this  young  man,  my  equerry?" 

The  duchess  essayed  to  speak,  but  for  a  moment 
without  success.  At  last,  she  managed  to  say: 

"  He  is  the  murderer  of  my  son. " 

44  No,  madame,  neither  he  nor  any  one  else  was  the 
murderer  or  even  the  slayer  of  your  son."  He  paused 
a  moment  to  mark  the  effect  of  his  words,  and  then 
continued  very  slowly :  "  Summon  up  all  your  courage, 
madame,  for  you  need  it  now.  There  is  a  surprise  in 
store  for  you,  a  great,  a  joyful  surprise." 

As  he  spoke  he  waved  his  hand  in  a  sort  of  signal. 

In  answer  to  his  gesture,  through  the  ranks  of  the 
soldiers  and  down  the  steps,  came  slowly  the  king's 
physician,  and  leaning  on  his  arm  was  a  young  man 
whose  handsome  face  was  very  pale. 

A  great  shout  went  up  from  the  Bohemians,  massed 
on  either  side. 

"  The  Duke  de  Bassompierre !" 

But  above  it  all  rang  out  one  piercing  shriek,  the  cry 
of  the  mother,  whose  son  was  restored  to  her,  whose 
dead  was  alive. 

She  tottered  forward,  but  her  strength  failed  her  and 
she  would  have  fallen,  had  not  Raoul  caught  her. 

In  another  moment  he  placed  her  gently  in  the  arms 
of  her  son. 

For  a  brief  instant  she  lay  as  one  dead,  and  then  her 


WON  AT  LAST!  295 

eyes  slowly  opened  to  meet  those  of  Paul  de  Bassom- 
pierre  bent  lovingly  upon  her. 

"Am  I  awake?"  she  murmured.  "Your  voice  alone 
can  prove  it.  Speak !  speak !  or  I  shall  die !" 

"Mother!" 

''My  son!  he  lives!"  sobbed  the  duchess,  and  there 
were  tears  in  the  €yes  of  all  that  heard  her,  "  Paul !  my 
son !  my  son !" 

"  Yes,  mother,  your  son, "  murmured  the  duke,  "  res- 
cued from  the  grave  indeed!" 

"  Yes,  yes !  Once  more  I  feel  your  heart  beat  against 
mine,  mine  that  I  thought  to  be  broken !  My  son !  my 
son!" 

And  Raoul  de  Puycadere?  to  whom  this  return  from 
the  grave  meant  life  and  freedom!  At  first,  he  was 
dazed  and  could  scarce  believe  the  testimony  of  his 
eyes.  But  now  that  he  had  gradually  recovered  his 
senses,  he  turned  to  the  King  of  Navarre  for  an 
explanation. 

"Sire,  what  means  this?  Who  has  wrought  this 
miracle?" 

"  It  is  all  due  to  the  science  of  the  greatest  physician 
in  Paris,"  said  the  king  with  a  smile,  indicating  Mas- 
ter Pare. 

"Tell  us,  tell  us,  Master  Pare!"  eagerly  cried  Gabri- 
elle,  in  whose  eyes  was  shining  a  happy  light  that  had 
not  been  there  for  many  a  day. 

The  duchess  raised  her  head,  but  still  holding  tight 
to  her  son,  as  if  she  did  not  dare  to  let  him  go. 

"Yes!  tell  me!  tell  me!"  she  said.  "Ah!  I  cannot 
speak.  It  is  my  joy  that  chokes  me." 

Thus  conjured,  the  king's  physician  told  his  story. 

"Pardon  me,  your  grace,"  he  began,  "if  I  have 
dared  to  trifle  with  a  mother's  feelings  and  to  endanger 


296  A  GENTLEMAN    FROM   GASCONY. 

others,"  with  a  glance  at  Raoul  and  Gabrielle,  "but  I 
did  not  dare  to  act  before.  When  the  body  of  the  duke 
was  intrusted'  to  my  care  for  interment,  I  saw,  but  saw 
with  trembling  doubt,  a  sign  of  life. " 

"  And  did  not  speak  of  it !"  sighed  the  duchess.  "  Oh, 
it  was  cruel!" 

"  I  dared  not  give  the  hope  I  scarcely  felt,  but,  for 
all  these  long  days,  I  watched  and  watched  the  faint 
spark  as  it  hovered  uncertain  over  the  dark  void,  till  at 
last  the  great  change  came.  Madame,  I  give  you  back 
your  son,  my  last  cure  and  my  best." 

"  But  not  the  same,"  said  the  duke.  "  Thanks  to  this 
good  man's  skill  and  words  of  wisdom,  I  have  been 
taught  a  lesson.  Monsieur  le  Chevalier,  to  you  I  owe 
much.  For  all  the  trouble  in  which  I  have  embroiled 
you,  I  ask  your  pardon. " 

And  he  held  out  his  hand,  which  Raoul  warmly 
grasped. 

"Mother,"  continued  the  duke,  "will  you  accept  this 
gentleman  as  your  friend  and  mine?" 

"  He  has  already  found  an  advocate, "  replied  the 
duchess,  with  a  faint  smile. 

As  she  spoke,  she  withdrew  her  arms  from  her  son 
and  held  them  out  to  Gabrielle,  who  rushed  into  them 
with  a  glad  cry. 

At  this  moment,  the  attention  of  all  was  diverted  by 
agonized  shrieks  of  fear.  Goujon  was  in  the  hands  of 
the  gypsies,  who  were  treating  him  anything  but  gently. 

The  chevalier  started  forward. 

"  Let  him  go,  my  friends,  let  him  go!"  he  exclaimed. 
"  He  is  not  worth  your  resentment!" 

"Yes,  let  him  go,"  added  the  King  of  Navarre, 
laughing.  "  The  owl  sings  long,  but  he  grows  hoarse 
at  last." 


WON  AT  LAST!     .  497 

Much  against  their  will,  the  Bohemians  released  their 
victim,  and  the  poor  wretch,  with  torn  uniform  and 
bleeding  face,  was  allowed  to  slink  away. 

The  king  approached  the  soldiers,  and  with  a  few 
words  dismissed  them.  The  gypsies  followed,  with 
loud  shouts  of  joy  at  the  happy  turn  affairs  had  taken. 

When  Henri  returned  to  the  other  end  of  the  gallery 
he  found  the  duchess  sitting  in  a  large  armchair,  with 
her  son  kneeling  beside  her.  Behind  them  was  the 
good  physician,  his  kind,  old  face  beaming  with  satis- 
faction. 

A  short  distance  away,  Gabrielle  nestled  in  Raoul's 
arms,  her  golden  head  pillowed  on  his  breast. 

As  the  king  contemplated  the  group  he  laughed  aloud, 
and  for  once  there  was  nothing  sneering  in  his  laughter. 
It  was  an  expression  of  pure  delight. 

"  It  seems  a  pity  to  break  in  upon  your  happiness,"  he 
said,  "  but  there  is  something  still  to  be  added.  I  seem 
to  have  been  the  Merlin  of  your  fairy  tales,  my  Gascon, 
the  wizard  who  unravels  the  tangled  skeins  and  sets  all 
things  right.  But  there  is  left  one  other  wave  to  my 
wand?  Shall  I  work  the  transformation,  Monsieur  le 
Chevalier?" 

"Surely,  sire, " replied  Raoul,  in  some  bewilderment. 

"Monsieur  le  Chevalier  de  Puycadere,"  continued 
Henri  of  Navarre  more  gravely,  "  in  addition  to  your 
other  services,  you  saved  my  life.  Whatever  my  ene- 
mies may  say,  ingratitude  is  not  one  of  my  faults.  If  I 
am  not  king  here,  I  am  king  in  Navarre !  Cease  to  be 
my  equerry  and  become  governor  of  Be"arn. " 

"Oh!  sire!"  broke  simultaneously  from  Raoul  and 
Gabrielle. 

"You  will  leave  for  your  new  post  to-morrow.  I 
have  procured  from  my  brother  of  France  this  blank 


298  A  GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

pass  to  Navarre,"  drawing  a  parchment  from  his  breast. 
"One  of  the  names  I  have  filled  in,  that  of  the  loyal 
Gascon,  Raoul,  Chevalier  de  Puycadere." 

The  duchess  rose  and  held  out  her  hand  for  the  docu- 
ment. 

"  With  your  Majesty's  permission,  I  will  dare  to  write 
the  other, "  she  said.  "  That  of  Gabrielle  de  Vrissac — 
or  shall  it  be  Gabrielle  de  Puycadere!" 

Fifteen  years  have  elapsed. 

Both  Charles  IX.  and  Catherine  de  Medicis  are  dead. 
Henri  de  Bourbon,  King  of  Navarre,  is  now  Henri  IV. 
King  of  France.  Both  he  and  his  beautiful  queen, 
Marguerite,  the  last  representative  of  the  House  of 
Valois,  have  many  years  before  them  of  a  reign  over 
the  country  they  love,  troublous  years  perhaps,  and 
yet  years  of  a  prosperity  which  France  has  never  known 
heretofore,  and  which  will  leave  their  stamp  on  genera- 
tions still  to  come. 

Many  fierce  battles  have  been  fought,  many  struggles 
of  diplomacy  have  taken  place,  but  these  only  interest 
us  so  far  as  the  people  whose  fortunes  we  have  fol- 
lowed are  concerned. 

At  the  intercession,  or  rather  at  the  command,  of  the 
Italian  queen-mother,  the  conspirators  who  sought  the 
life  of  the  King  of  Navarre,  the  Vicomte  de  Vrissac  at 
their  head,  were  pardoned,  on  the  condition  that  they 
left  France  forever. 

Annibal  Goujon,  disappointed  in  the  reward  of  five 
hundred  crowns  for  the  capture  of  the  Huguenot  he 
thought  himself  so  sure  to  win,  died  of  the  result  of  a 
drunken  bout,  indulged  in  through  his  disappointment. 
And — do  we  dare  to  whisper  it? — his  wife  did  not  mourn 
him  extravagantly. 


WON  AT  LAST!  299 

Pretty  Rose  never  married  again — one  experience 
was  enough  for  her — but  the  "  Rising  Sun"  prospered 
year  after  year,  bringing  a  golden  shower  into  her 
lap. 

One  more  scene  and  then  the  curtain  falls. 

We  are  where  we  were  when  we  first  met  Raoul  de 
Puycadere,  but  how  changed  are  our  surroundings. 

The  ruined  chateau  is  now  restored  and  is  the  pride 
of  the  whole  countryside.  The  house  itself  is  magnifi- 
cent, both  inside  and  outside,  the  lawns  are  smooth  as 
velvet,  the  gardens  brilliant  in  their  riot  of  color,  and 
the  owner  and  his  beautiful  wife  are  adored  throughout 
the  fair  land  of  Gascony. 

Let  us  take  our  last  glimpse  of  them  on  one  exquisite 
evening  of  the  last  days  of  summer. 

Under  the  spreading  branches  of  a  tilleul-tree  sit 
Raoul  de  Puycadere  and  his  wife,  Gabrielle  far  more 
lovely,  if  possible,  as  a  matron  than  she  ever  was  as  a 
maid. 

Not  far  away  is  a  white-haired  old  lady,  bent  with 
years  now,  but  with  her  wit  as  keen,  her  personality  as 
strong  as  it  has  ever  been,  and,  by  her  side,  the  duke, 
her  son,  who,  although  a  Catholic,  has  won  his  spurs 
and  redeemed  the  follies  of  his  youth  fighting  the  bat- 
tles of  his  country  with  the  white  plume  of  Navarre  as 
his  oriflamme. 

From  the  lawn  below  come  the  shouts  of  laughter  of 
two  sturdy  sons  of  the  house  of  Puycadere,  who  are 
being  taught  by  a  dark-eyed  gypsy  matron  the  words  of 
the  song  of  their  country: 

"  Non  loin  du  pays  de  Gascogne, 
Mon  pere  avait  un  vieux  chateau. 
Mon  aieuel  etait  rossignol, 
Ma  grand-mere  etait  hirondelle!" 


300  A   GENTLEMAN    FROM    GASCONY. 

It  is  not  often  that  those  nomadic  personages,  Pharos 
and  his  wife,  Mirza,  can  be  induced  to  come  for  a  visit 
to  the  Chateau  de  Puycadere,  but,  when  they  can,  what 
delight  to  the  two  boys,  whom  they  love  almost  as 
much  as  do  their  parents! 

Gabrielle  turns  to  her  husband,  who  remains  still  her 
lover,  and,  glancing  over  the  sunlit  scene  before  her, 
says: 

"How  happy  we  are!  Mordiou!"  and  then  she 
laughs :  "  You  see,  I  am  becoming  as  much  a  Gascon 
as  you !" 

Raoul  laughs  too. 

"  Become  a  Gascon  as  much  as  you  please  in  all  ways 
but  one.  Don't  indulge  in  the  sole  weakness  of  the 
Gascon,  and  romance !  I  must  believe  in  your  love. " 

Gabrielle  turns  upon  him  her  eyes,  full  of  that  light 
that  never  was  on  land  or  sea. 

"  Do  you  doubt  it?" 

"Never,  sweetheart,  never!" 


THE  END. 


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